LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 

Gl  FT    OF 


HEART  PROBLEMS. 


LYD1A   W.    STEPHENS, 


1 1  were  content,  could  I  be  but  a  flower 
Up  at  the  feet  of  these." 

T.  BUCHANAN  READ. 


PHILADELPHIA 


424  WALNUT  STREET. 

1870. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1S69,  by 
LYDIA  W.   STEPHENS. 

Jn   the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  tho  United  States,  in  and  for  tlu 
Eastern  District  of  Pennsylvania. 


TO 
MY  DEAR  UNCLE  AND  FORMER  GUARDIAN, 

JOSEPH    DAY  IS, 

AS    A 
TOKEN    OF    SINCERE     GRATITUDE 

FOR    HIS    UNTIRING    AND    DISINTERESTEp    KINDNESS 

TO   THE 
ORPHAN     AND     THE     MOTHERLESS, 

I     MOST     AFFECTIONATELY 
DEDICATE    THIS    VOLUME. 

Norristown,  Pa. 


1G5040 


PREFACE. 


HAVE  solved  them  all — all  these  intricate 
problems — as  one  by  one  the  unfolding  of 
the  pages  of  Life's  Volume  has  revealed 
them  to  me.  Difficult  has  been  the  solu- 
tion, and  mournful  the  result  of  some.  Yet,  with  a  grate- 
ful heart,  I  now  review  them,  conscious  that  to  me  has 
been  justly  awarded  that  common  lot  of  humanity,  to 
enjoy,  to  suffer,  and  endure. 

Heart-problems  !  Who  has  not  solved  them  ?  Who 
has  not  felt  the  ecstatic  joy,  or  the  overwhelming  grief, 
which  their  solution  brings  ?  And  who  does  not  hope,  one 
day,  to  present  them  to  the  Great  Teacher,  in  the  humble 
confidence  that  the  same  omniscience  that  has  discerned 
every  conflict  between  the  weak  flesh  and  the  willing 
spirit,  will  pronounce  upon  them  the  welcome  plaudit  of 
"well-done?" 

The  oft-repeated  solicitations  of  personal  friends  have 
eventually  induced  me  to  subject  this  volume  of  my 
original  productions  to  public  criticism.  Many  of  them 
have  heretofore  appeared  in  some  of  the  periodicals  of 


6  PEEFACE. 

my  own  and  sister  States — mostly  over  a  fictitious  signa- 
ture— while  others  have,  until  now,  retained  their  manu- 
script form.  Some  of  them  were  written  previous  to  the 
dark  hours  of  the  rebellion  ;  others,  during  its  most  appal- 
ling tragedies ;  and  yet  others,  since  the  last  four  years  of 
a  nominal  peace  have  enabled  us  to  partially  recover  from 
the  murderous  assaults  upon  our  national  existence. 

To  the  advocates  of  non-resistance  who  may  peruse  this 
volume,  a  portion  of  its  contents  may  seem  like  apologies  for, 
if  not  eulogiums  of  the  barbarous  practice  of  settling,  by 
means  of  a  wholesale  human  carnage,  whatever  difficulties 
may  arise  between  nations.  Yet,  such  was  by  no  means 
the  spirit  which  prompted  those  productions.  War,  with 
its  horrid  accompaniments,  has  always  been  hateful  to  me. 
I  loathe  its  very  name.  But,  a  war  waged  for  the  emanci- 
pation of  a  long-oppressed  people,  and  participated  in  by 
the  truest  type  of  American  manhood,  was  a  theme  cal- 
culated to  awaken  the  deepest  sympathy,  and  furnish 
inspiration  for  the  humblest  pen.  I  admire,  almost  rev- 
erence, that  truly  Christian  spirit  that  resists  not  evil ; 
yet  when,  contrasting  the  homes  of  those  which  the  war 
had  death-dreared,  with  the  few  that  had  escaped  that 
desolation — I  have  asked  myself  the  question,  Which  of 
these  is  bearing  the  heaviest  cross? — every  feeling  of 
justice  and  humanity  has  prompted  me  to  a  decision  in 
favor  of  the  former.  And  when,  too,  in  those  days  of 
sorest  trial,  I  have  seen  friends  and  connexions  dissuading 


PEEFACE.  7 

their  loved  ones  from  obeying  what  had  seemed  to  them 
the  voice  of  duty — their  country's  call — and,  in  a  short 
time,  beheld  those  same  loved  ones  cold  in  death,  either 
from  disease  or  accident,  I  have  been  led  to  exclaim — 
Surely,  the  hand  of  God  is  in  this  thing !  and  they  who 
refuse  to  make  sacrifice  to  their  nation,  in  this,  her  hour 
of  peril,  may  be  called  upon  to  make  greater  sacrifices, 
in  a  moment  when  they  deem  themselves  most  secure 
therefrom.  Hence,  whether  a  pacific  or  a  warlike  spirit 
pervades  these  effusions,  one  motive  only  has  prompted 
their  production— that  of  keeping  forever  paramount  the 
great  principles  of  truth,  justice,  and  humanity. 

The  book,  with  whatever  merits  or  demerits  it  may 
possess,  is  now  alike  at  the  mercy  of  sympathizing  friends 
and  a  scrutinizing  public,  and  its  Authoress,  while  she 
asks  for  it  a  fair  and  impartial  criticism,  claims  the  privi- 
lege of  advancing  in  its  behalf  this  one  brief  argument — 

"  Tis  the  heart  gives  value  to  words." 

L.  W.  S. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

PREFACE, 5 

INQUIRE  WITHIN, 13 

THE  SPIRIT  BRIDE, 18 

GO  AND  DO  THOU  LIKEWISE, 30 

AUTUMNAL  MUSINGS, 32 

THE  OLD  CHESTNUT  TREE, 34 

LET  ME  DIE  AT  HOME, 37 

SEARCH  THE  SCRIPTURES, 40 

THE  THUNDER  STORM, 43 

PERPETUAL  BLOOM, 46 

HOLD  ON  ! 48 

THEY  SLUMBER  HERE, 50 

HOME  THOUGHTS, 54 

OUR  SUNBEAM, 57 

OUR  SHADOW, 59 

THE  KOOM  WHERE  LOVED  ONES  DIE, 61 

HEAVENLY  TREASURES, 63 

LET  JEHOVAH  JUDGE  ! 65 

CAST  THY  BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS, 67 

DYING  EMBERS, 69 

LANDSCAPES    OF  LIFE, 71 

HOW  SHALL  WE  KNOW  THEM  THERE  ? 76 

'Tis  HOME  WHERE  THE  HEART  is, .79 

9 


10  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

WITHOUT  AN  ENEMY, 84 

THE  FROST  UPON  THE  PANE, 87 

REMINISCENCES, 90 

THE  CHILD'S  MATIN  HYMN, 93 

GONE  TO  REST, 96 

DESCRIPTION  OF  A  WINTER  MORNING, 98 

MY  VOCATION, 101 

LUCK  AND  PLUCK, 103 

I  WOULDN'T  BE  JEALOUS  IF  I  WERE  YOU, 105 

CHILDHOOD'S  HOME, 107 

BIRTH-DAY  PENCILLINGS, 110 

SUMMER  CLOUDS, 113 

To   MY  NIECE,  ON  HER  NINTH  BIRTH-DAY, 115 

"GILPIN'S  ROCKS." — CECIL  COUNTY,  MARYLAND,    .     .     .  118 

AUTUMN  LEAVES, 120 

THE  SPIRIT  LAND, 122 

GOD  MADE  US  TO  BE  HAPPY, 124 

FUGITIVE  LAYS, 126 

CURLING  SMOKE, 129 

FIDELITY, 131 

COME  UP  HIGHER, 133 

RIPPLES  IN  THE  GRAIN, 138 

GONE  BEFORE, .141 

CHARITY, 144 

THE  OLD  HOMESTEAD, 147 

SUMMER  FRIENDS, 150 

FAITHFUL  is  HE  THAT  CALLETH  YOU, 154 

THE  THREE  SOLILOQUIES, 156 

GOD  TEMPERS  THE  WIND  TO  THE  SHORN  LAMB,     .     .     .  160 

UNDER-CURRENTS, 162 

IMPROMPTU  TO  WATER, 165 

TO  THE  SCHUYLKILL  RlVER, 169 

PRACTISE  WHAT  YOU  PREACH  ;  OR,  EXAMPLE  BETTER  THAN 

PRECEPT, 172 

OMNISCIENCE,       175 

RANDOM  THOUGHTS, 177 


CONTENTS.  11 

PAGE 

THE  INEBRIATE'S  WIFE, 180 

MY  OTHER  SELF, 183 

OUR  FATHER  ! 186 

THE  WRECK  OF  A  BROKEN  LIFE, 188 

WHITE  SWEARING, 191 

INDEPENDENCE  MUST  HAVE  LIMITS, 193 

THE  EXODUS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY,     ....  195 

IN  MEMORIAM, .198 

AFTER  THE  BATTLE, 200 

NAVIS  REPUBLICS, ' 203 

WHEN  THE  WAR  ENDS, 206 

FORT  PILLOW, , 209 

OUR  DEAD  HEROES, 212 

WHAT  I  SAW,   HEARD,  AND  THOUGHT,  ETC.,      ....  216 

FROM  GETTYSBURG, 225 

STRENGTH  THROUGH  ADVERSITY, 227 

NOT  RETURNED, 236 

OUR  NATION'S  GRIEF, 240 

IMMORTALS, 245 

OUR  ENSIGN,       253 

GATHERED  TO  HIS  FATHERS, 257 

ONE  YEAR  IN  THE  SPIRIT-LAND, 260 

GOING  TO  THE  SPRINGS, 262 

EARTH'S  GREAT  ONES, 267 

THE  SIGHING  OF  THE  PINES, 269 

IT  is  FINISHED,       . 272 


INQUIRE   WITHIN. 

STANZAS    SUGGESTED    BY    SOME  OF    THE    STIRRING  EVENTS 
OF   THE    WINTER   OF    1859-60. 


WITHIN  this  age  of  "humbug  and  pretence, 

When  men  of  nonsense  pass  for  men  of  sense  ; 

When  so-called  teachers  pompously  profess 

A  tact  and  talent  which  they  don't  possess ; 

When  shrewd  attorneys,  claiming  what  they  please, 

Enrich  their  purses  from  their  clients'  fees  ; 

When  would-be  doctors  swell  their  patients'  bills, 

By  puffing  "sovereign  balms"  and  "cure-all  pills;" 

When  Pharisaic  cavillers  at  sin 

Steal  Heaven's  garb  "  to  serve  the  devil  in ;" 

When  worldly-wise,  maneuvering  mammas 

Would  fain  entrap  young  gents  with  rich  papas; 
2  13 


14  INQUIRE   WITHIN. 

When  wily  politicians  hourly  seek 

Lucrative  offices  both  fat  and  sleek ; 

And  principle — that  guardian  of  the  free — 

Is  sacrificed  for  popularity  ; 

'Tis  mete  that  all  Life's  duties  who  begin, 

Should  first  this  motto  learn— INQUIRE  WITHIN. 

Pray  note  our  Congress  halls  this  present  term  1 

Of  wide  dissensions  the  well-nourished  germ  : 

Our  periodicals,  with  vain  regret, 

Each  day  and  hour  proclaim,  u  No  Speaker  Yet  I" 

While  Greeley,  as  his  Tribune  circulates, 

In  witty  language,  it  denominates 

A  place  in  which  our  learned  men  of  state 

Have  met  to  carry  on  a  brisk  debate. 

The  "Black  Republicans  "  at  once  agree 

No  one  but  Sherman  shall  their  speaker  be  ; 

While  Southerners  with  scorn  and  terror  look 

On  all  who  would  encourage  "  Helper's  Book." 

Some  slander'd  representatives  would  fain 

Newspaper  paragraphs  at  length  explain  ; 

From  Stevens'  tongue  sarcastic  arrows  fly  ; 

And  Hickman  moves  adjournment,  sine  die  ! 

What  is  the  matter  ?     Such  delay  is  sin  ! 

Why  don't  some  cooler  heads  inquire  within  ? 


INQUIRE    WITHIN.  15 

Now  pause  we  where  imposing  walls  arise, 

And  spire  points  upward  to  th'  arching  skies. 

Come,  let  us  enter — everywhere  we  see 

The  evidence  of  pride  and  pageantry  ; 

Seeming  to  bear  unto  the  startled  ear, 

The  heartless  words — "  No  poor  may  enter  here  /" 

The  organ  sounds — Christ's  messenger  has  come, 

His  mission  is  to  lead  earth's  wand'rers  home. 

In  prayer  he  kneels — the  strains  of  music  cease, 

He  seeks  to  break  the  bread  of  life  and  peace. 

List  to  his  words  !     Can  you  among  them  trace 

Ideas  suited  to  his  hearers'  case  ? 

Ah,  no!  too  frequently  they're  gilded  o'er, 

To  screen  the  crimes  his  soul  would  else  deplore ! 

Sin's  sinfulness  his  spirit's  eye  can't  see ; 

'Tis  dazzled  by  his  glittering  salary. 

Thus  God's  own  courts  are  made  the  courts  of  sin, 

Because  His  tenants  don't  inquire  within. 

Anon  my  muse  the  social  circle  gains ; 

Where  Fashion  proud  her  regal  sway  maintains  ; 

She  leads  me  through  those  richly  garnished  halls, 

Thronging  with  gentry  making  "New  Year's  calls;" 

She  bids  me  mark  that  swarthy  Cuban  king 

His  costly  gifts  to  yon  fair  lady  bring  ! 


16  INQUIRE   WITHIN. 

Bids  me  a  "  Diamond  Wedding  "  to  behold ! 
Whose  guests,  arrayed  in  satins,  pearls,  and  gold, 
Now  issue  forth  from  that  imposing  dome, 
Of  wealth  and  luxury  the  princely  home. 
They  pass  in  state  along  the  crowded  street ; 
The  great  cathedral  door  at  length  they  greet ; 
They  enter,  and  in  solemn  language  take 
Those  holy  vows  which  Death  alone  should  break. 
To  moralize  my  muse  would  now  begin : 
I  wonder  if  they  both  inquire  within. 

Lo  !  near  Potomac's  shore  we  next  are  seen, 
Where  Harper's  Ferry  opes  a  fearful  scene ; 
Hark  1  from  her  arsenal  the  clash  of  arms 
Grows  fiercer,  louder,  as  the  contest  warms. 
What  means  it  ? — List  I  A  small,  undaunted  band, 
Possessed  of  an  idea  great  and  grand, 
Obedient  to  their  honor 'd  Chieftain's  word, 
"  Commissioned,"  as  he  terms  it,  "  from  the  Lord," 
Fired  with  the  zeal  that  bought  our  liberty, 
Another  race  from  thraldom  seek  to  free. 
"  Madman !    Fanatic  !"  is  the  phrenzied  cry : 
"  Martyr !"  resounds  in  solemn  symphony, 
As  he,  the  truthful,  brave,  doth  calmly  come 
Forth  from  his  cell  to  meet  a  felon's  doom. 


INQU1KE   WITHIN.  17 

Let  us  not  marvel,  if,  across  the  main, 
Such  news  arouse  a  Hugo's  just  disdain ! 
Virginia,  'tis  to  thee  we  owe  this  scene  ! 
Pause  then,  and  honestly  inquire  within ! 

And  now,  kind  friends,  rny  humble  task  is  done  j" 

No  laurels  have  I  gained,  no  trophies  won ; 

Bat,  if  I  have  amid  this  uncouth  rhyme, 

Devoid  of  language,  graceful  or  sublime, 

Awakened  in  some  warmly  throbbing  heart 

A  new  resolve  to  act  the  better  part, 

Distrust  appearance,  shun  deception's  car, 

And  learn  to  view  Life's  objects  as  they  are  ; 

To  join  with  fearless  soul  the  moral  fight, 

And  don  the  badge  of  justice,  truth,  and  right ; 

To  seek,  with  heart  sincere,  that  grace  so  free, 

Christ  deigns  to  offer  unto  you  and  me ; 

If  this  be  done,  my  purpose  is  attained, 

My  wishes  have  been  met,  my  object  gained. 

Then  may  we,  when  our  sovereign  Judge  shall  look 

To  our  accounts  within  His  mystic  Book, 

Present  a  page,  unblemished  by  a  sin, 

To  Him  whose  searching  eye  inquire  within. 


THE    SPIEIT    BEIDE. 


ONCE,  within  the  dewy  summer,  shaded  by  a  sighing 

grove, 
Sat  and  chatted  three  young  maidens,  telling  o'er 

their  tales  of  love. 
In  her  turn  a  witching  fairy — zephyrs  toying  with 

her  curls, 
Clad  in  vestments  light  and  airy,  answered — "Now  I 

tell  you,  girls, 
If  I  thought  I'd  never  marry,  'twould  to  me  be  source 

of  dread ; 
For  of  all  the  hateful  creatures  none  excel  a  prim  old 

maid ; 
Stiffly  starched,   and  cross,  arid  fretful,  ugly  as  they 

well  can  be, 
Never  loved  and  never  loving — from  such  fate  deliver 

me!" 

18 


THE    SPIKIT   BRIDE.  19 

Thus  outspoke  the  bright-eyed   Cora — Cora  Lynn, 

the  village  pet  ; 
Then,  reproving,  Maud  Magregor  raised  to  her  her 

eyes  of  jet, 

Saying,  "  You've  forgotten,  surely,  in  the  bold  ha- 
rangue you've  made, 
That  our  loving,  loved  Aunt  Rosie  is  herself  '  a  prim 

old  maid,' 
Happy  with  her  foster-children  in  her  cottage  by  the 

sea — • 
She'll  at  least  prove  one  exception,   Cora,  to  your 

theory." 
11  Aunt   Rosalbert,  I'd  forgotten,"    Cora  blushingly 

replied. 
"  But  come,  girls,  let's  seek  her  cottage  by  the  briny 

Ocean's  side ! 
Somehow  I  now  feel  romantic  ;  and,  perchance,  if  e'er 

she  loved, 
She  will  tell  us  all  the  story,  how  her  faith  was  tried 

and  proved." 
At  her  cottage  door  Aunt  Rosie  welcomed  them  with 

friendly  smile, 

Gave  them  seats  beneath  the  woodbine,  gaily  chat- 
ting all  the  while ; 
But,  when  they  make  known  their  errand,  transient 

clouds  that  smile  efface, 


20  THE    SPIKIT   BEIDE. 

Just  as  summer  clouds  at  noonday  flit  across  the 
sun's  bright  face. 

Gaining  then  her  wonted  calmness,  thus  the  kindly 
spinster  spoke, 

Words,  whose  earnest,  deep-toned  utt'rance  slumber- 
ing chords  of  mem'ry  woke  : 

"  To  begin  aright  my  story,  I   my  audience   must 

^ 

bear 

Unto  rny  dear  home  of  childhood,  when  I  knew  not 
grief  or  care ; 

To  a  home  hard  by  our  cottage,  where,  in  olden 
luxury, 

Dwelt  a  wealthy  Irish  noble,  with  his  wife  and  chil- 
dren three ; 

Two  were  grown  almost  to  girlhood  ;  one,  a  brave 
and  handsome  boy, 

Who,  though  seven  years  my  senior,  was  my  child- 
hood's pride  and  joy  ; 

Charmed  by  Nature's  rustic  beauties  roamed  we 
through  the  woodlands  wild — • 

He  a  tall  and  graceful  stripling,  I  a  frail  and  slender 
child. 

Soon  I  knew  my  first  great  sorrow — death  our  happy 
threshold  crossed;— 

Placed  two  names  upon  the  record  of  my  early  loved 
and  lost. 


THE   SPIRIT   BRIDE.  21 

Then  that  wealthy  Irish  noble  kindly,  thoughtfully 

did  come, 
Proffering  my  dying  parents  their  lone  orphan  child 

a  home. 
Faithfully  he  kept  that  promise,  faithfully  and  fondly 

too; 
And  my  foster-mother,  sisters,  nought  but  fondness 

ever  knew. 
Soon  those  loving  foster-sisters  breathed,  in  accents 

soft  and  low, 
Hymen's  nuptials  at  the  altar — left  us  other  homes  to 

know; 
While  the  noble  son  and  brother,  earnest,  talented, 

and  brave. 
To  the  lonely  one  beside  him  kind  attention   ever 

gave; 
Little  dreaming  that  such  kindness  might,  in  some 

unguarded  hour, 

Chain  each  ardent  aspiration  by  Love's  ever-conquer- 
ing power ; 
Little  dreaming  that  the  praises  given  by  others  all 

the  while, 
Caused  no  pleasure,  if  those  virtues  won  from  him 

no  answering  smile. 
But  'twas  mine  soon  to  discover — though  against  its 

power  I  strove — 


22  THE    SPIRIT    BKIDE. 

While  I   loved   him  fondly,  wildly,  his  was  but  a 

brother's  love  ; 
For,  one  night,  'mid  Fashion's  mazes,  we  a  graceful 

beauty  view, 
With  the  mingled  rose  and  lily  clustering  'round  her- 

eyes  of  blue. 
Soon  I  saw  my  earthly  idol  seek   that    beauteous 

being's  side ; 
Then  each  hope  I'd  vainly  cherished  slowly  in  my 

bosom  died  ; 
For  I  knew  that  such  a  being  would   that   idol's 

homage  claim, 
And    forsake    her    home    parental   to  assume    his 

honored  name. 
When  he  led  her  to  the  altar,  rousing  all  my  woman's 

pride, 
Calmly  I  performed  each  duty  of  the  bridesmaid  to 

the  bride ; 
Nor  was  aught  deceitful  mingled  even  with  an  act 

like  this  ; 

For  her  fate  with  his  was  blending,  and  her  happi- 
ness was  his ; 
But  I  learned  how  much  of  torture  human  bosoms 

can  conceal, 
While  in  secret  they  are  mourning  sorrows  they  dare 

not  reveal. 


THE   SPIRIT   BRIDE.  23 

When  the  festal  throng  was  over  sought  I  solitude's 

retreat ; 
Pouring  out  my  heartfelt  anguish  humbly  at   my 

Saviour's  feet. 
There  I  found  that  consolation  which  none  ever  seek 

in  vain, 
And  with  spirit  chastened,  strengthened,  took  life's 

burden  up  again  ; 

From  my  neck  removed  the  necklace,  tore  the  gar- 
land from  my  brow, 
Feeling  that    such    costly   trifles  only   mocked  my 

spirit  now. 
Arthur's  home  was  bright  as  sunlight,  children  clus- 

ter'd  'round  his  hearth ; 
Till  the  lovely  one  who  bore  them,  fading  slowly — 

passed  from  earth  ; 
Then,  unto  his  death-dreared  household  earnestly  he 

bade  me  come, 
For   my  honored    foster-parents    late    had    sought 

another  home. 
Bade  me  once  again  his  life-path  with  my  presence 

deign  to  bless  ; — 

Comforting  the  lone,  bereaved — fostering  the  mother- 
less. 
For  a  while  I  hesitated — shrinking  from  the  world's 

cold  sneers — 


24  THE   SPIRIT   BRIDE. 

But  the  urgent  voice  of  duty  overcame  all  other 
fears. 

Entered  on  my  new-found  life-path,  tranquil  happi- 
ness was  mine, 

Though  I  worshipped,  still  unheeded,  at  my  dearest 
earthly  shrine. 

Scarce  a  twelvemonth  yet  was  numbered  in  the 
records  of  the  past, 

Ere  again  o'er  Arthur's  threshold  dire  disease  relent- 
less passed : 

His  once  firm,  elastic  footstep  feebler  grew  from  day 
to  day, 

And  I  now,  with  keenest  sorrow,  marked  him  slowly 
fade  away. 

Once,  while  sadly  o'er  him  watching,  struggling  with 
my  soul's  unrest, 

He  in  tones  both  faint  and  faltering,  thus  my  listen- 
ing ear  addressed : — 

'  Darling  Eose,  my  Eose,  mavourneen,  listen  to  my 
accents  now, 

While  you  wipe,  with  hand  caressing,  clammy 
sweats  from  off  my  brow. 

I  am  dying,  Eose,  mavourneen— -slowly,  feebly  comes 
my  breath, 

And  e'en  now  I  feel  the  dampness  of  the  chilling  vale 
of  death; 


THE    SPIRIT    BKIDE.  25 

And  I'd  fain  to  you,  mavourneen,  my  heart's  history 
reveal, 

Ere   the  sepulchre's  closed  portals  all  that  history 
conceal. 

I  would  speak  of  one,  mavourneen,  one  who  loved 
me  fondly,  well ; 

Gone  from  earth  in  youth  and  beauty  with  the  count- 
less host  to  dwell ; — 

T  would  speak  of  her,  mavourneen,  tell  you  of  my 
spirit's  thrall 

Since  I,  in  a  thoughtless  moment,  utter'd  words  I'd 
now  recall. 

Dazzled  by  Kate's  matchless  beauty — lured  by  her 
enticing  charms, 

Once  I  fancied  that  I  loved  her — woo'd  and  won  her 
to  my  arms ; 

But  that  day-dream  scarce  had  faded  ere  your  girlish 
form  arose, 

Moving  like  a  shade  between  us  in  my  spirit's  deep 
repose. 

Brief  the  love  that  Kate  awakened — yours  was  last- 
ing as  my  life ; 

Ere  our  marriage-vows  were  plighted  felt  I  this  in- 
ternal strife ; 

But  I  never  yet  had  spoken,  Rosa,  of  my  love  to 


26  THE   SPIRIT   BRIDE. 

And  the  seal  remained  unbroken ;  honor  bade  me 

thus  to  do ; 
And  you  seemed  so  calm,  unmoved,  at  my  dazzling 

bridal  scene, 
That  I  felt  all  unreturned  would  my  love  to  you 

have  been. 
But,  since  you  became  an  inmate  of  my  desolated 

home. 
Since  Disease  upon  my  vitals  with  his  ravages  has 

come, 
Since  so  anxiously  you've  watched  me  with  a  fervor 

nought  could  pall, 
I   have   learned   your  painful  secret — Eosa,  now  I 

know  it  all. 
Yes,  I  know  it — long  have  known  it — and  to  tell  you 

felt  no  dread  ; 
But  respect  was  due,  mavourneen,  to  the  memory  of 

the  dead. 

Sharing  wholly  my  affections,  as  she  thought,  con- 
fidingly, 
She  has  passed  from  earth  to  heaven — to  our  home 

beyond  the  sky. 
Happy  now  among  the  angels  doth    her   ransom'd 

spirit  dwell, 
While  to  you,  my  first  and  only  loved  one,  I  this 

story  tell. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 

_FOI   _ 
THE    SPIRIT    BRIDE.  27 

Be  a  mother  to  my  children  !     Love,  protect  them  as 

your  own ! 
Keeping  sacred  still  the  mem'ry  of  the  parents  they 

have  known ! 
And,  though  here  you  have  not  trodden  in  Love's 

pathway  by  my  side, 
None  may  doubt  your  claims  in  heaven;  for  you  are 

my  spirit-bride.' 
Thus  he  lived  and  thus  departed — he,  my  early,  only 

love — 
And  he  now  awaits   my   coming   in   celestial   bliss 

above. 
Yonder  come  his  merry  children  bounding  through 

the  wicket  gate, 
From  their  walk  upon  the  sea-beach — Carl,  Rosal- 

bert,  Blanche,  and  Kate." 
"But,  Aunt  Rosie,"  now  responded  frank,  outspoken 

Effie  Nohr, 
"  Had  you  ne'er  another  suitor  ?"    "  Yes,  my  darling, 

many  more ! 

I  with  Arthur  sought  those  mazes  where  I  frequent- 
ly would  meet 
Those  who  cast  in  rich  profusion  Cupid's  off'rings  at 

my  feet. 
Charms  I  had — so  flatt'rers  told  me — charms,  accom 

plishments  were  mine, 


28  THE    SPIEIT    BKIDE. 

While  my  ample  fortune  brought  me  wily  suitors  to 

my  shrine, 

But,  when  hearts  like  mine,  so  constant,  so  unchang- 
ing in  their  love, 
Once  have  centered  their  affections,  nought  can  those 

affections  move." 
As   the   summer   sun,    reclining    gently    on     his 

crimson  bed, 
Seemed  to  seek  repose  from  labor,  homeward  they 

their  journey  sped. 
Chastened  by  Aunt  Eosie's  story,  wiser  for  the  truth 

it  taught, 
Praying  for  a  heart  as  constant  each  that  night  her 

chamber  sought. 
Years  have  flown  since  that  bright  ev'ning,  and 

upon  each  youthful  brow 
Care   has   lightly   left   her    traces;     two   are   sober 

matrons  now ; 
But  the  third — the  bright-eyed  Cora — Cora  Lynn, 

the  village  pet — • 
Reader,  could  you,  would  you  think  it  ? — Cora  is  not 

married  yet ! 
Vainly  friends  and  kindred  rally — nothing  can   her 

purpose  move, 


THE    SPIRIT    BRIDE.  29 

As  she  laughingly  informs  them  she'll  not  marry  till 

she  loves ; 
For  Aunt  Kosie's  simple  story  long  ago  removed  the 

dread 
Pictur'd  in  her   girlish   fancy   of  the  epithet — old 

maid. 


GO    AND    DO    THOU    LIKEWISE! 

THOUGHTS  SUGGESTED  WHILE  LISTENING  TO  AN  ORATION 
ENTITLED  "  THE  MORAL  HERO,"  DELIVERED  IN  FULTON 
HALL,  LANCASTER,  PA.,  BY  ONE  OF  THE  GRADUATES  OF 
FRANKLIN  AND  MARSHALL  COLLEGE,  IN  THE  SUMMER 
OF  1859. 

IN  one  of  Lancaster's  capacious  halls, 

That  proudly  bears  immortal  Fulton's  name, 

I  sat  and  listened  to  the  echoing  fall 

Of  footsteps  treading  in  the  path  to  fame. 

Footsteps  of  those  who  proudly  came  to  bear 
The  trophies  which  their  arduous  toil  had  won ; 

Those  fadeless  laurels  on  their  brows  to  wear, 
That  tell  of  noble  actions,  nobly  done. 

I  listened,  too,  to   music's  stirring  notes, 

Borne  in  rich  melody  upon  the  air ; 
While  strains  of  eloquence  alternate  float 

In  manly  tones  from  those  assembled  there. 
30 


GO    AND   DO    THOU   LIKEWISE.  31 

And  there  was  one — a  slender,  dark- eyed  youth, 
Of  pleasing,  frank  address,  and  earnest  mien ; 

Forth  from  whose  lips  pure  gems  of  sterling  truth 
Flash'd  like  bright  rays  shed  from  Sol's  glitt'ring 
sheen. 

His  theme — "  The  Moral  Hero  " — noble  theme 
For  orator's  harangue  or  author's  pen  ; 

His  words  all  potent  and  enchanting  seem, 
Portraying  duty  to  his  fellow-men. 

He  spoke  of  those  who,  in  the  cause  of  truth, 
Come  boldly  forth  to  battle  for  the  right ; 

And  urged  on  all,  alike  in  age  or  youth, 

To  don,  in  proud  array,  Truth's  armor  bright. 

My  unknown  friend,  though  I  no  more  may  see 
Thy  form,  nor  listen  to  thy  earnest  tone ; 

May'st  thou,  in  ages  of  futurity, 

In  Truth's  great  cause  blush  not  to  stand  alone. 

Earth  needs  such  moral  heroes — Go  thou  forth  ! 

And  what  thou  preachest  strive  to  practise  too  I 
God  aid  thee  in  a  cause  so  fraught  with  worth, 

And  bless  thy  actions,  earnest,  just  and  true ! 


AUTUMNAL   MUSINGS. 


THEKE'S  a  landscape,  lovely  and  serene, 

That  I  from  my  chamber  view ; 
I've  admired  it  oft  in  the  summer  time, 

And  now  th'  autumnal  hue, 
Spread  o'er  each  tree,  and  plant,  and  flower, 

Portrays  a  richer  scene, 
Than  when  Nature  smiled  her  loving  smiles, 

Arrayed  in  robes  of  green. 

Far  in  the  distance  waves  a  wood, 

While  nearer  we  behold 
Proud,  undulating,  fertile  fields, 

Of  purest,  richest  mould. 
Some,  autumn's  sober  robes  have  donn'd ; 

While  some  in  verdure  glow ; 
Like  to  a  ray  of  hope  upon 

Submission's  placid  brow. 
32 


AUTUMNAL   MUSINGS.  33 

I  know  not  why,  but  these  autumn  days 

Make  me  sadder  now  than  wont, 
And  phantom  forms  of  perished  joys 

My  soul's  deep  recess  haunt. 
I  used  to  love  their  drap'ry  rich, 

And  joy  in  their  gorgeous  dies  ; 
As  they  hung  like  richest  tapestry 

'Neath  an  Indian  Summer's  skies. 

For  I  knew  that  summer  again  would  come, 

With  em'rald  robes  so  bright ; 
And  we'd  all  forget  the  robes  she  wore 

'Neath  th'  hoar  frost's  icy  blight. 
She  will  come  again  to  some,  I  know, 

But  it  may  not  be  to  me ; 
And  the  solemn  thoughts  that  pervade  my  soul 

A  warning  of  this  may  be. 

Hast  ordained  it  thus,  omniscient  One  ? 

Shall  my  life-cord  soon  be  riven  ? 
Then  let  Thy  sov'reign  will  be  done 

On  earth  as  it  is  in  heaven  ! 
Yet  ere  in  its  eternal  home 

My  soul  shall  with  rapture  glow, 
Mayst  Thou,  great  Censor,  approving  scan 

My  mission  fulfill'd  below  ! 


THE   OLD   CHESTNUT-TREE. 

STANZAS   INSCRIBED    TO    MY    FRIENDS    AT    WOOD    LAWN, 
MONTGOMERY    COUNTY,    PA. 


WHEN  first  I  knew  thee,  ancient  tree, 
Like  to  an  islet  in  the  sea 

Thou  stoodst  all  alone  ; 
Swaying  thy  sturdy  banches  there, 
Freely  within  th'  ambient  air, 
As  sways  his  sceptre  some  proud  heir 

Unto  a  regal  throne. 


o 


Time  passed  ;  and  in  the  years  agone, 
Upon  thy  verdant,  sloping  lawn, 

A  habitation  'rose  j 
Then,  in  their  turn,  exotics  grew ; 
With  care  transplanted  for  their  hue 
Of  emerald,  retained  through 

Stern  winter's  storms  and  snows. 
34 


THE   OLD   CHESTNUT-TREE.  35 

Yet  all  unconscious  thou  hast  stood — 
Proud  relic  of  the  ancient  wood 

Of  our  immortal  Penn  ; 
Unconscious  of  thy  rivals  'round, 
In  silent  majesty  profound, 
Peerless,  undaunted  still,  thou'rt  found 

Among  the  haunts  of  rnen. 

And  well  thou  mayst — in  thee  we  see 
Both  beauty  and  utility 

Judiciously  combined ; 
The  Schuylkill,  laving  at  thy  base, 
Fills  not  more  faithfully  its  place, 
Uniting  sturdy  strength  with  grace, 

To  benefit  mankind. 

Though  oft  we  see  thee  brown  and  sere, 
Grave  sentinel,  an  object  dear 

To  me  thou'st  e'er  been  known  ; 
Warm  hearts  are  beating  'neath  thy  shade, 
Warm  hearts  and  true  ;  and  there  have  played 
Children  whose  little  lives  have  shed 

Bright  sunshine  o'er  my  own. 

Long  may  the  loved  ones  clustered  there, 
And  kept  by  the  protecting  care 


36  THE   OLD   CHESTNUT-TREE. 

Of  a  blest  Hand  divine, 
As  many  jo}^s  and  pleasures  know 
Within  their  constant  breasts  to  glow, 
And  ever  in  their  life-path  flow, 

As  they  have  strewn  on  mine. 

And  long  may'st  thou,  my  aged  friend, 
With  arms  still  seeming  to  extend 

A  welcome  unto  me, 
And  all  who  to  thy  shades  are  drawn, 
As  in  the  halcyon  days  agone, 
Stand,  monarch  of  that  wooded  lawn — 

Time-honored  chestnut-tree. 


LET  ME  DIE  AT  HOME. 


SOME  say  that  the  fittest  time  to  die 

Is,  when  fading  leaves  are  strewn. 
In  beauty  'neath  the  arching  sky, 

By  the  gusts  of  Autumn  blown  ; 
But  I  care  not  whether  Spring  flowers  gay, 

Or  Summer's  blossoms  bloom 
Around  the  freshly-moulded  clay, 

That  forms  my  new-made  tomb. 
I  care  not  whether  th'  Autumn's  blast, 

Or  th'  angry  Winter  storm, 
Shall  moan  above  the  narrow  house 

That  holds  my  clay-cold  form. 
I  only  ask,  when  relentless  Death 

With  his  fatal  dart  shall  corne, 
And  bid  me  yield  my  fleeting  breath, 

That  I  may  die  at  home. 
4  37 


38  LET   ME    DIE    AT    HOME. 

For  sure  'twould  be  sweeter  far  to  die 

With  loved  ones  'round  my  bed  ; 
Where  the  glistening  tear  in  affection's  eye, 

In  silent  grief  is  shed. 
Where  a  true  friend's  hand  shall  press  my  brow, 

Or  a  familiar  form 
Shall  mark  my  struggling  spirit  bow 

Before  Death's  gathering  storm; 
Where  my  last,  faltering  accents  fall 

On  each  attentive  ear, 
And  the  words  I  breathe  are  heard  by  all 

Who  will  hold  their  rnem'ry  dear. 
Ah,  yes !  methinks  at  whatever  hour 

Death's  mandate  sure  might  come, 
'Twould  lessen  its  o'erwhelming  power, 

If  I  could  die  at  home. 

When  my  freed  soul  shall  wing  its  way 

To  the  mansions  of  the  blest, 
I  would  not  have  the  stranger  pray 

For  that  soul's  eternal  rest. 
I  would  not  have  the  stranger  heap 

The  clods  above  my  grave — 
Such  a  tomb  may  serve  for  those  who  sleep 

Like  th'  patriot  warrior  brave. 


LET   ME   DIE  AT   HOME.  39 

But  when  within  its  narrow  bed 

My  lifeless  form  is  laid, 
Let  friendship's  gentle  tears  be  shed — 

By  her  hands  let  my  grave  be  made. 
God  grant  that  whatever  my  fate  may  be, 

'Mid  whatever  scenes  I  roam, 
When  my  soul  shall  pass  to  eternity, 

That  I  may  die  at  home. 


SEAECH  THE  SCBIPTUKES. 

*'  Search  the  Scriptures  ;  for  in  them  ye  think  ye  have  eternal 
life:  And  they  are  they  which  testify  of  me." — John  v.  39. 


YES,  search  them  through  !  if  ye  would  know 

The  gems  of  holy  truth, 
Eevealed  upon  each  sacred  page 

To  guide  the  path  of  youth  ; 
Or  of  the  comfort  which  they  give 

To  the  desponding  soul, 
When  sorrow's  overwhelming  waves, 

Upon  our  pathway  roll. 

Ages  have  passed  since  God  to  man 

This  precious  volume  gave  ; 
Designed  to  show  the  wondrous  plan, 

From  sin  our  race  to  save ; 
And  oft  the  skeptic  proud  has  dar'd 

Its  records  to  deny, 
And  spoken  scornfully  of  all 

The  truths  that  in  it  lie. 
40 


SEAECH   THE   SCRIPTURES.  41 

But  as  the  diamond,  which,  conceal'd 

Far  from  each  solar  ray, 
More  brightly  shines  when  'tis  reveal'd 

Amid  the  light  of  day  ; 
So  truth,  though  falsely  crushed  to  earth 

By  proud,  presuming  men, 
Eises  with  more  intrinsic  worth 

Unto  her  sphere  again. 

And  Christ,  the  Holy,  and  the  Just, 

The  Saviour  of  mankind, 
When  veiled  in  mortal  flesh  below, 

Their  value  thus  defined  : — 
"  Employ  them  not  in  useless  strife ! 

But  search  them  through !"  said  he; 
"  In  them  ye  have  eternal  life  ; 

They  testify  of  me." 

Of  Him,  the  meek  and  lowly  One, 

The  Son  and  Sent  of  God ; 
Who,  for  the  sins  of  all  mankind, 

This  vale  of  sorrow  trod  ; 
What  nobler  theme  to  contemplate, 

E'en  for  the  worldly-wise, 
Than  Him,  the  Almighty  Potentate, 

The  Sov'reign  of  the  Skies  ? 
4* 


42  SEARCH    THE    SCRIPTURES. 

None  !  and  sublirner,  purer  thoughts, 

You'll  seek  in  vain  to  find, 
Than  are  within  this  holy  Book 

Profusedly  combined ! 
Then  search  them  through  !  for  unto  us 

This  treasure  has  been  given, 
To  guide  our  wayward,  wand'ring  souls 

Into  the  gates  of  Heaven. 


THE   THUNDER   STORM. 


Lo  !  from  yon  low'ring  ebon  cloud 
Comes  forth  the  lightning's  gleam  ! 

While  Thunder's  notes  reverberate 
O'er  valley,  hill,  and  stream. 

Near  and  more  near  the  clouds  approach, 
More  stunning  is  the  sound ; 

While  patt'ring  rain-drops  thickly  fall, 
Like  glittering  pearls  around. 

I  love  to  gaze  on  scenes  like  this, 
Scenes  so  sublime  and  grand ; 

And  mark  the  skill  and  power  divine 
Of  an  Almighty  hand. 

But  why,  within  the  doubting  heart, 

Do  fears  so  oft  arise, 
When  viewing  grandeur  like  to  this, 

Within  the  raging  skies  ? 
43 


44  THE   THUNDER    STORM. 

"Tis  true  that  danger  seems  more  near 

In  such  an  hour  as  this ; 
And  proves  to  man  there  reigns  above, 

A  Power  more  great  than  his. 

But  yet,  that  overruling  Power 

Protection  can  bestow, 
The  same  amid  the  storm,  or  calm, 

On  mortals  here  below. 

We're  ever  at  His  mercy  plac'd, 
He  guards  each  vessel  frail ; 

Whether  the  sunlight  gems  life's  waves, 
Or  rudest  winds  assail. 

The  storm  has  ceased  [  Upon  yon  cloud 
The  rainbow  bright  appears  ! 

And  we  amid  these  calmer  scenes 
Forget  our  recent  fears ! 

Father !  Oh,  help  us  all  to  feel, 

In  ev'ry  stage  of  life, 
Thy  awful  power,  as  when  we  mark 

Thy  elements  in  strife  ! 


THE  THUNDER  STORM.  45 

And  guide  our  actions,  that  we  may 

'Mid  all  the  storms  of  earth, 
Look  forth  in  faith  to  see  Thee  place 

Thy  "  bow  of  promise  "  forth  1 


PEKPETUAL   BLOOM. 

THOUGHTS    ON    SEEING   A    ROSE-TREE    BLOOMING   DURING 
A    SNOW    STORM. 

I  SAW  it  blooming  'mid  the  snow  ; 

Each  bright  and  beauteous  bud, 
So  fair  and  fragile  in  its  form, 

The  howling  blast  withstood ; 
And  seemed  to  smile,  calm  and  serene, 

Although  the  low'ring  cloud 
Had  veiled  its  taper  leaves  of  green 

Beneath  a  snowy  shroud. 

And  as  I  gazed,  I  thought — how  like 

Life's  landscape  this  appears  ; 
When  ceaseless  bloom  Hope's  blossoms  bright, 

'Neath  clouds  of  doubts  and  fears. 
When  desolation's  chilling  snows 

Would  shroud  the  throbbing  heart, 
Amid  the  storm  each  blossom  blows, 

And  bids  the  clouds  depart. 
46 


PERPETUAL    BLOOM.  47 

May  He  who  hath  ordained  it  thus, 

Still  will  it  thus  to  be  ; 
Till  Life's  uncertain  streamlet  glides 

Into  Eternity  ! 
And  may  Hope's  blossoms,  thus  prepared, 

In  realms  beyond  the  tomb, 
Freed  from  earth's  blighting  frosts  and  snows, 

Enjoy  perpetual  bloom  I 


HOLD    ON! 


COL.  CROCKETT,  renowned,  very  wisely  hath  said 
To  his  comrades  in  Life's  valiant  fight — 

"  Don't  loiter  along! — go  ahead  ! — go  ahead ! 
But  always  be  sure  that  you're  right !" 

And  raethinks  that  this  motto  so  wise,  might  as  well, 

By  another  cognomen  be  known  ; 
Though   cant,  brief,  and    homely — wise    counsel   it 
gives — • 

In  the  plain,  simple  language — "  Hold  on  !" 

Hold  on  to  your  heads  when  they'd  nod  their  assent 
To  what  your  hearts  cannot  approve ; 

Hold  on  to  your  tongues  when  they'd  dare  to  defame 
The  neighbor  whom  God  bids  you  love ! 

Hold  on  to  your  principles — firmly  hold  on  ! 

When  conscience  declares  that  you're  right, 
Though  legions  of  foes  from  within  and  without, 

Summon  forth  to  a  desperate  fight. 
48 


HOLD  ON!  49 

Hold  on  to  your  feet  when  they'd  lead  you  toward 
The  grog-shop,  or  gambler's  dark  den; 

Hold  on ! — and  thus  by  an  example  so  firm, 
Shield  from  error  your  weak  fellow-men  ! 

Hold    on    to  your    purse-strings   when  they  would 

unclasp, 

To  foolishly  squander  your  store  ! 
Hold  on  to  your  hands  when  such  deeds  they'd  per- 
form, 
As  would  bring  you  remorse,  evermore ! 

Hold  on  to  your  hearts,  young  ladies,  hold  on ! 

Don't  love  a  moustache  with  such  pains, 
Till  you  feel  quite  assured  the  appendage  has  not 

Been  donn'd  to  conceal  lack  of  brains. 

Hold  on,  also,  young  gents,  hold  on  to  your  hearts ! 

Till  you're  sure  that  the  beauties  you  prize, 
Are  not  only  sustain'd  in  their  freshness  arid  youth  (?) 

By  the  aid  of  Parisian  dyes. 

Ay  !  when  error  and  sin  and  temptation  assail, 
More  than  half  of  the  conflict  is  won, 

If  our  banner  this  motto  unfurl  to  the  gale- 
Be  not  over-hasty — Hold  on  ! 
5 


THEY    SLUMBEfi    HERE. 

THOUGHTS    SUGGESTED    DURING   A    VISIT    TO    THE    BURIAL 
PLACE   OF     DEPARTED    RELATIVES. 


TREAD  lightly !     This  is  sacred  ground ! 

The  sainted  dead  are  here ! 
Pass  softly  by  each  grassy  mound 

That  holds  their  relics  dear. 
Each  little  hillock  robed  in  green, 

Awakes,  within  my  heart, 
The  latent  powers  of  memory, 

As  with  a  magic  art. 

Why  pause  I  here  above  this  grave, 

With  feelings  sad  and  lone  ? 
A  mother's  form  lies  buried  here, 

Whose  soul  to  God  has  flown ; 
While-by  her  side,  rny  honor'd  sire 

In  Death's  embrace  lies  low, 
No  more  to  share  the  common  lot 

Of  mortals  here  below. 
50 


THEY   SLUMBEK    HERE.  5t 

That  grassy  mound,  apart  from  these, 

In  silence  lone,  contains, 
Reposing  in  a  dreamless  sleep, 

A  grandsire's  loved  remains. 
And  one  I  loved  in  childhood's  years, 

Eests  here,  beneath  this  sod  ; 
In  manhood's  prime,  his  ransorn'd  soul 

Was  summoned  home  to  God. 

While  here,  beneath  this  plain,  white  stone, 

There  rests,  in  sweet  repose, 
The  form  of  one  who  early  left 

This  scene  of  mortal  woes ; 
She  stood  beside  a  manly  form, 

A  happy,  trusting  bride ; 
A  twelvemonth  lived  to  glad  his  home — 

Her  first-born  blessed — and  died. 

Fond  mem'ry  bids  me  linger  now, 

Above  another  tomb, 
And  muse  upon  the  lovely  clay 

Reposing  'mid  its  gloom. 
My  sister-friend,  so  early  called 

To  slumber  with  thy  God, 
Permit  me  now  to  sadly  muse 

Above  thy  covering  sod. 


52  THEY   SLUMBER   HERE. 

Thou  wast  the  last  of  this  loved  baud, 

God  sumrnon'd  to  the  skies ; 
Hence,  fresher  in  my  memory, 

Fond  thoughts  of  thee  arise, 
I  see  thee  as  I  saw  thee,  when, 

Upon  that  mournful  day, 
In  speechless  grief,  we  hung  above 

Thy  pale  and  lifeless  clay. 

I  see  thy  glossy  ebon  hair 

Smoothed  o'er  thy  marble  brow, 
Which,  though  the  sun  of  life  had  set, 

Was  beauteous,  even  now. 
I  see  those  death-dimmed  orbs  of  thine, 

Once  lit  by  love  most  true, 
Veiled  by  those  lids  whose  fringe  caressed 

Thy  cheeks  of  ashen  hue. 

And  then  I  ask  why  one  so  fair, 

So  lovely  and  beloved, 
Should  from  these  transient  earthly  scenes 

So  early  be  removed  ? 
It  may  be  long  ere  I  again, 

Unto  these  haunts  may  come ; 
For  duty  calls  me  far  away, 

'Mid  other  scenes  to  roam. 


THEY    SLUMBER  HERE.  53 

But,  wheresoever  I  may  be, 

Whatever  fate  attend, 
I'll  muse  upon  the  spot  where  rests 

Each  fondly  cherished  friend. 
And  Heaven  grant,  that  when  this  heart 

Hath  ceased  Life's  busy  strife, 
I'll  slumber  in  the  arms  of  death, 

With  those  I  loved  in  life. 


HOME    THOUGHTS. 

CRYSTAL     SPRING,     PA. 


SEATED  by  the  open  casement, 

Fanned  by  pure  and  balmy  air, 
Gaze  I  on  the  distant  landscape, 

Fraught  with  beauty,  rich  and  rare  ; 
Mark  the  clear  and  placid  river 

Flowing  onward  toward  the  sea, 
While  the  varied  tints  of  Autumn 

Blend  in  lovely  harmony. 

And,  anon,  the  locomotive, 

Bearing  forth  its  pond'rous  load, 

Like  a  living  thing  of  action, 
Thunders  on  the  iron  road. 

While  aloft,  the  magic  wire, 

Gleaming  in  the  sunshine  bright, 

Carries  th'  electric  fluid, 

Morse's  genius  taught  to  write. 
54 


HOME   THOUGHTS.  55 

Now  my  restless  musings  wander 

To  the  days  of  long  ago  ; 
When  yon  river's  sparkling  wavelets 

Bore  the  Indian's  canoe. 
When  the  Indian  maid  her  mirror 

Sought  beside  that  crystal  stream  ; 
Or,  beneath  the  forest  shelter, 

Oft  indulged  in  "  Love's  young  dream." 

And,  though  fervently  my  bosom 

Glows  with  patriotic  pride, 
At  my  country's  growth  and  greatness, 

Now  extending  far  and  wide ; 
Yet,  'mid  her  primeval  beauty 

Busy  Fancy  loves  to  roam, 
With  the  noble-hearted  red  man, 

In  his  ancient  forest-home. 

Ere  the  unrelenting  "  pale-face  " 

Had  invaded  his  domains, 
And  he  dwelt,  in  savage  freedom, 

'Mid  our  valleys,  hills,  and  plains, 
Ere  the  poisonous  "  fire-water  " 

To  his  wigwam  had  been  brought, 
By  his  "more  enlightened"  brother, 

Who  his  final  ruin  sought. 


56  -   HOME    THOUGHTS. 

And,  when  musing  o'er  the  changes 

Which  Progression's  hand  hath  traced, 
In  my  mind  the  thought  arises — 

Will  these  scenes  e'er  be  effaced  ? 
Will  this  present  age  of  wonders, 

Judged  by  wiser  heads  than  ours, 
Vanish,  'neath  the  mighty  conquest 

Of  proud  Genius'  magic  powers  ? 

Vain  the  task  to  solve  the  problem — 

Future  ages  only  can  ; 
"  Let  us  then  be  up  and  doing," 

Working  out  Progression's  plan  ! 
But  whatever  be  accomplished 

In  the  ages  yet  to  come, 
May  Columbia  e'er,  and  justly, 

Boast  herself  fair  Freedom's  home ! 


OUR    SUNBEAM. 


EV'RY  household  hath  its  sunbeam  ! 

And,  thank  Heaven,  we  have  ours; 
Wooing,  into  life  and  beauty, 

'Mid  earth's  brambles,  sweetest  flowers. 
Not  a  sunbeam  from  the  golden 

Orb  of  day  'tis  ours  to  share, 
But  a  little  cherub  sunbeam, 

Shedding  gladness  everywhere. 
Such  a  sunbeam  as  the  Father, 

In  His  goodness,  doth  bestow ; 
Lest  His  children,  overladen, 

Weary  of  life's  conflict  grow. 

In  and  out,  with  ceaseless  patter, 

Run  the  tiny  little  feet ; 
Tears  and  smiles  of  their  possessor 

Alternating  moments  fleet.- 
57 


58  OUR   SUNBEAM. 

Asking  questions  almost  countless, 

With  a  pretty,  arch  resolve ; 
Questions  that  'twould  ofttirnes  puzzle 

A  philosopher  to  solve. 
Grateful  are  we  for  such  sunbeams, 

Lighting  this,  our  earthly  way — • 
Heaven  bless  their  future  life-course — 

Heaven  bless  them  all  for.  aye. 


OUK     SHADOW. 


Ev'RY  household  hath  its  shadow  ! 

And,  alas !  to  ours  have  corne 
Shadows  deep'nirig,  wid'ning,  broad'ning, 

To  the  portals  of  the  tomb ! 
Once  a  gem  of  rarest  value 

In  a  fragile  casket  lay — 
A  pure  spirit  plum'd  for  Heaven, 

Scatt'ring  o'er  life's  rugged  way 
Blossoms  of  such  varied  beauty, 

Pearls  of  such  intrinsic  worth, 
That  its  Heaven-appointed  mission, 

All  too  holy  seemed  for  earth. 

And  the  Spoiler  came  and  scourged  it, 
Marred  its  beauties,  hour  by  hour ; 

Till  that  fair  arid  fragile  casket 
Prostrate  lay  beneath  his  power. 

Then  it  was  the  shadow  broadened 

Here  beneath  our  homestead  tree  ; 
59 


60  OUR   SHADOW. 

From  a  light,  to  us  extinguished, 
Brightening  in  Eternity. 

May  that  light,  that  angel  pharos, 

Guide  our  storm-tossed  barques  to  shore 

Where  the  sunshine  knows  no  shadow, 
Where  the  darkness  comes  no  more. 


THE  EOOM  WHERE  LOVED  ONES  DIE. 


WE  open  it  in  sadness,  and  we  close  it  with  a  sigh, 
The  door  that  guards  the  entrance  of  the  room  where 
loved  ones  die. 

The  softly-sighing  zephyrs  float  through  that  dark- 
ened room, 
On  pinions  richly  laden  with  delicate  perfume; 

The  drowsy  bees  are  humming  around  it  all  the  day, 
And  feathered  songsters  warbling,  as  they  flit  from 
spray  to  spray  ; 

All  nature  seems  inviting  to  scenes  of  festive  joy, 
To  pleasures  all  unmingled  with  aught  of  an  alloy  ; 

Yet  we  open  it  in  silence,  and  we  close  it  with  a  sigh, 
The  door  that  guards  the  entrance  of  the  room  where 

loved  ones  die. 
6  61 


62  THE    ROOM   WHERE    LOVED    ONES    DIE. 

There  the  last  word  was  spoken  ;  there  the  unsteady 

breatli 
Gave  token  of  the  presence  of  the   ghastly  king — • 

stern  Death. 

The  hand  we  clasped  relaxing  its  slight  and  slighter 

hold, 
First  powerless  grew,  then  pulseless,  then  stiff  and 

icy  cold  ; 

The  heart  was  stilled — the  features  grew  placidly 

serene, 
And  the  form  we  fondly  cherished  told  but  of  what 

had  been. 

Such  the  associations  that  follow  in  their  train, 
As  with  melancholy  pleasure  we  recount  them   o'er 
again ; 

As  we  open  it  in  sadness,  and  close  it  with  a  sigh — 
The  door  that  guards  the  entrance  of  the  room  where 
loved  ones  die. 


HEAVENLY  TEEASUEES. 


TREASURES  in  the  heavenly  kingdom — 
A  triumphant  seraph  baud — 

At  the  mandate  of  the  Father, 
In  His  holy  presence  stand ; 

How  they  draw  us  !  How  they  draw  us ! 
Treasures  in  that  heavenly  land. 

How  their  subtle  power  magnetic 
Breaks  the  charms  of  earth  away ! 

How  their  language,  most  prophetic, 
Tells  us  of  our  swift  decay  ! 

How  they  warn  us !  How  they  warn  us ! 
Bidding  us  to  watch  and  pray. 

Father,  gathering  in  thy  Kingdom 
Thus  our  treasures,  one  by  one, 

Some  'mid  shadows  of  life's  twilight, 
Others  ere  their  transient  sun 

Eeached  its  zenith,  reached  its  zenith, 
Life's  brief  journey  scarce  begun, 
63 


64  HEAVENLY   TREASURES. 

Help  us,  wise  and  holy  Father, 
To  regain  those  treasures  there, 

By  a  life  of  love  and  duty, 

Faith,  and  hope,  and  earnest  prayer  ! 

Help  us  gain  them  1    Help  us  gain  them, 
Where  tried  virtue  knows  no  snare  1 


LET   JEHOYAH   JUDGE. 


IMMORTAL  toilers  in  life's  harvest-field, 
Binding  the  ripen'd  grain  its  soil  doth  yield ; 
Ye  who  your  soul's  tribunal  daily  scan, 
And  seek  the  duty  due  from  man  to  man ; 
Deal  not  too  harshly  with  that  stricken  one 
To  whom  hath  set  Hope's  bright,  alluring  sun  1 
Gaze  not  too  coldly  on  that  care-worn  brow  ! 
Ye  know  not  of  the  grief  that  lies  below. 

For,  could  ye  trace  the  records  of  the  Past, 
The  shadows  dark  which  o'er  that  heart  they've  cast ; 
Could  ye  behold  the  penitential  tears 
In  secret  shed,  'rnid  hopes,  and  doubts,  and  fears ; 
Discern  the  causes  for  each  trace  of  care, 
That  time-worn  countenance  doth  sadly  bear ; 
Ye  could  not  coldly  gaze  upon  that  brow, 
When  ye  beheld -the  grief  that  lies  below. 
6*  65 


66  LET   JEHOVAH   JUDGE. 

Perchance  some  cherished  friends,  in  Life's  gay  morn, 
Were  from  that  fond  heart's  tendrils  rudely  torn; 
Perchance  around  it  Love's  deceitful  chain 
In  some  unguarded  hour,  was  bound  in  vain ; 
Or  from  Religion's  calm  and  placid  ray, 
Perchance  the  Tempter  led  it  far  astray ; 
Then  gaze  not  coldly  on  that  care- worn  brow ! 
Ye  know  not  of  the  grief  that  lies  below. 

For,  thus  may  its  most  cherished  joys  have  flown, 
Before  their  fragile  blossoms  yet  were  blown; 
Thus  unrelenting  Fortune  may  have  frowned, 
Shedding  her  blighting  influence  around ; 
Then  leave  to  God  that  sad  and  stricken  heart — 
For  He  alone  can  sovereign  grace  impart — 
And  gaze  not  coldly  on  that  care-worn  brow ! 
Ye  know  not  of  the  grief  that  lies  below 


CAST  TRY  BREAD  UPON  THE  WATERS. 

"  Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters  :  for  thou  shalt  find  it  after 
many  days." — Ecclesiastics  xi.  1. 


"  CAST  tb j  bread  upon  the  waters  " — 

Pilgrim  on  life's  thorny  maze ! 
Cast  it  forth  !  and  thou  wilt  find  it — 

Find  it  after  many  days  ! 
Look  above,  beneath,  around  thee ! 

View  the  heavenly  blessings  strewn ! 
Teaching  thee  the  noble  lesson — 

Live  not  for  thyself  alone  ! 

"  Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters," 

Soldier  on  Life's  battle-plain  ! 
Cast  it  forth  !  in  faith  believing 

'Twill  return  to  thee  again ! 
He  the  boon  of  life  deserves  not, 

Who  but  for  the  present  lives  ; 
Failing  to  improve  each  moment 

God  in  His  great  goodness  gives. 


67 


68  CAST    THY   BREAD   UPON    THE   WATERS. 

"  Cast  thy  bread  upon  the  waters !" 

Freely  it  is  given  thee  ; — 
Cast  it  forth  !  and  thou  wilt  find  it, 

Find  it  in  Eternity. 
Though  thou  never  mayst  behold  it 

In  thy  pilgrimage  on  earth  ; 
Heaven  retains  it  to  reward  thee — 

Faithful,  fearless,  cast  it  forth  ! 


DYING  EMBERS. 


HAVE  ye  ever  watched  the  embers, 

As  they  one  by  one  depart — 
Not  upon  a  cheerful  hearth-stone, 

But,  within  an  aching  heart  ? 
Have  ye  marked  the  fitful  flashes 

Darted  forth  ere  life  was  o'er, 
Till  the  dull  and  pallid  ashes 

Told  you  that  they  lived  no  more? 

Dying  embers  on  a  hearth-stone 

Is  a  cheerful  sight  to  view  ; 
But  the  heart's  consuming  embers 

Have  for  all  a  sombre  hue. 
Hearthstone' fires  may  be  replenished 

And  rekindled  in  their  turn ; 
For,  unchanging  laws  in  nature 
Bid  them  cheerily  to  burn. 
69 


70  DYING    EMBERS. 

But  it  was  the  heart's  affections 

Lighted  first  the  embers  there  ; 
Only  doomed  to  pale  and  glimmer 

By  repulsion's  lurid  glare. 
All  in  vain  they  flash  and  lighten, 

Liven'd  by  hope's  cheering  ray ; 
For,  at  last,  that  ray's  extinguished ; 

And  they  slowly  die  away. 

Weary  mortals,  in  whose  bosoms 

Your  heart's  embers  thus  have  died, 
Be  not  fearful !     Be  not  faithless ! 

Souls  must  thus  be  purified. 
And,  for  you  those  ashen  embers 

Will  rekindled  be  above ; 
Burning,  with  a  flame  undying, 

In  the  realms  of  endless  love. 


LANDSCAPES    OF    LIFE. 

WRITTEN    ON    NEW   YEAR'S   EVE,    1859. 


TO-NIGHT  the  Old  Year  dieth ! 

All  day  the  restless  earth,  rob'd  in  the  snowy  shroud 
That  winter  gives,  has  silently  received 
The  crystal  tear-drops  Nature  seems  to  shed 
O'er  his  departure.     Even  now,  methinks, 
His  fun'ral  knell  is  rung  by  angel  bands, 
Who  mark  the  flowing  of  the  tide  of  time. 
And,  when  the  last  faint  echo  dies  away 
Upon  the  midnight  air,  th'  merry  birthday  bells 
Will  ring  a  welcome  to  the  new-born  year. 

Wrapp'd  in  the  visions  of  the  buried  past, 
Almost  unconscious  of  surrounding  scenes, 
My  spirit's  eye  hath  roam'd  far,  far  away 
Into  the  lapse  of  by-gone  years.     While  mem'ry 
With  magic  touch,  portrays,  in  colors  bright. 
Landscapes  of  life,  whose  outlines  faint,  old  Time 

Has  traced. 

71 


72  LANDSCAPES    OF   LIFE. 

"Tis  but  a  panoramic  view 

She  gives  ;  but  oh,  what  'membrance  of  past  joys, 
What  shades  of  grief,  they  to  my  vision  bring ! 

First,  'mid  those  pictures  bright,  methinks  I  see 
A  cherish'd  form  my  infant  lips  address'd 
By  the  fond  name  of  mother.     TV  purest  joys 
My  heart  have  ever  thrill'd,  were  felt  when 
In  th'  sunshine  of  her  smile ;  while  the  warm  kiss 
Imprinted  on  my  cheek  spoke  love  unfeign'd. 
Such  love,  methinks,  I  never  more  may  know, 
Until  this  throbbing  breast  hath  pulseless  grown. 
For.  'mid  that  'raptur'd  bliss  the  reaper — Death — 
Bore  her  away  among  the  priceless  sheaves 
The  Father  had  declar'd  fit  for  His  garner. 
They  told  me  she  had  gone  from  earth  for  aye  ; 
And  though  to  childhood's  view  it  seem'd  a  dream, 
Its  stern  realities  I  since  have  felt — 
An  aching  void  within  my  heart,  no  form 
But  hers  can  fill,  'tis  mine  to  know  e'en  now. 

That  landscape  bright,  with  all  its  leafy  groves, 
Its  fragrant  flowers  and  tesselated  green, 
Now  fades  away ;  and  then  another  greets 
My  mental  view.     In  this  I  recognize, 
Beside  my  honor'd  sire,  the  form  of  one 
Who,  I  was  told,  had  come  to  take  the  place 


LANDSCAPES   OF   LIFE.  73 

My  bright  "  earth-star  "  had  left.     They  told  me 
I  must  call  her  mother,  too.     I  loved  her  well ; 
For  she  was  good  and  kind.     But  yet,  methought, 
The  love  she  bore  to  me  was  not  so  pure, 
So  deep,  so  fraught  with  nature's  promptings, 
As  that  of  her  who  unto  God  had  gone. 
I  gaze  upon  the  scene !  and,  as  I  gaze, 
The  sable  hearse,  the  coffin,  and  the  shroud, 
Arise  before  me.     While  he,  the  guardian 
Of  my  infant  years,  in  manhood's  prime, 
Bows  low  beneath  the  icy  touch  of  death, 
And  hastes  to  join  his  sainted  partner 
In  the  realms  of  bliss. 

'Mid  all  these  scenes, 

In  buoyancy  of  youth,  fair,  childish  forms 
Before  me  flit.     Most  prominent  'mong  these, 
Is  one,  a  dark-eyed  child,  with  ebon  hair, 
And  her  fair,  blue-eyed  sister.     Hand  in  hand 
We  roam'd  o'er  hill  and  vale  to  cull  spring-flowers; 
In  long,  bright  summer  days  we  gleeful  play'd 
Beside  the  babbling  brook  ;  or  sported  with 
The  snowy  robes  of  earth  when  winter  ruled 
The  year. 

The  hours  of  girlhood  came ;  but  yet 
With  hands  unclasped,  we  trod  life's  path- way. 


74  LANDSCAPES    OF    LIFE. 

Our  dark-eyed  one  before  the  altar  stood — 
I  stood  beside  her  there  ;  saw  the  small  hand 
Besting  confidingly  in  that  of  him 
Her  woman's  heart  had  chosen.     I  heard 
Those  coral  lips  the  promise  breathe — to  love 
Till  death  should  sever;  and  as  she  turn'd  away, 
Bright  flowers  seem'd  strewn  about  her  joyous  path. 
Eich  blessings  from  the  Father's  hand  were  hers  ; 
Yet,  while  the  tendrils  of  our  loving  hearts 
Clasped  still  more  closely  round  that  fragile  form, 
The  yawning  tomb  received  her  lifeless  clay.  . 

Appalled  we  stood  and  gazed  upon  the  wreck 
Death's  hand  had  wrought ;  and   then,  with  aching 

hearts 

Arid  tearful  eyes  turn'd  unto  Him  who  gave, 
And  said  :  "  Thy  will  be  done  I" 

And  thus,  e'er  since 

Upon  life's  stream  my  fragile  barque  was  launched, 
Have  those  I  lov'd  the  best  been  borne  away 
By  some  resistless  current.     Yet  hath  my  course 
Been  fraught  with  blessings  rife.     True  friends  are 


o 

mine — 


Friends,  worthy  of  the  name,  cheering  me  onward 
Toward  th'  eternal  port.      And  though  life's  land- 
scapes 


LANDSCAPES    OF    LIFE.  75 

Might  have  been  more  bright — though  in  this  brief 

review 

Arise  regrets  for  duties  unperformed, 
For  moments  unimproved  ;  I  thank  my  God 
Tli at  His  protecting  care  thus  far  hath  kept 
My  wayward,  wand'ring  feet  from  error's  path, 
And  made  me  what  I  am.     I  thank  Him 
For  the  blessings  that  are  mine  ;  and  pray  * 

That  He  may  be  my  gracious  Pilot  still, 
'Mid  all  life's  storms.     And  when,  at  last,  my  barque, 
Become  too  frail  to  longer  cope  with  breakers, 
Lies  wrecked  amid  the  shoals,  may  His 
Eedeeming  love  in  safety  guide 
Its  clay-freed  tenant  to  the  port  of  peace  1 


HOW  SHALL  WE  KNOW  THEM  THEKE  ? 

"  It  doth  not  yet  appear  what  we  shall  be :  but  we  know  that, 
when  he  shall  appear,  we  shall  be  like  him  ;  for  we  shall  see  him 
as  he  is." — 1  John  iii.  2. 


WHEN  these  changing  earth-scenes  vanish  from  before 

the  glazing  eye, 
When  these  fragile  forms  shall  languish  and  with  the 

cold  earth-worm  lie, 
When  the  never-dying  spirit  seeks  the  mansions  of 

the  blest, 
Freed   from    earth-stains  to    inherit  God's    eternal, 

promised  rest, 
When  the  loved  ones,  called  before  us,  greet  us  in 

those  mansions  fair 
With  glad  strains  of  sweetest  welcome,  how  shall  we 

discern  them  there  ? 


HOW  SHALL  WE  KNOW  THEM  THERE  ?    77 

Will  it  be  the  form,  the  feature  ?     Will   it  be   the 

speaking  eye  ? 
Such  endowments  of  the  creature  all  too  early  fade 

and  die ! 
Only  to  the  soul  immortal  when  life's  silver  cord  is 

riven, 
Entrance   to    those   blissful  portals  was   the   sacred 

promise  given. 
Sown  in  nature  and  in  weakness,  raised  in  spiritual 

power, 
Flesh  and   blood  may  not  inherit  ecstacies  of  that 

bright  hour. 

Says  the  evangelic  writer — It  hath   not  as  yet  been 

shown 
What  we  shall  be  when  we  enter  those  blest  realms 

to  us  unknown  ; 
But  we  know  when  He  appeareth  to  our  sight  no 

longer  dim, 
Clothed  in  His  majestic  beauty,  we  shall  be  like  unto 

Him. 
Sacred  privilege,  to  be  like  Him — Him    so  spotless 

and  so  pure ; 
Who  for  human  woes  and  frailties  keenest  suff 'ring 

did  endure. 


78    HOW  SHALL  WE  KNOW  THEM  THERE  ? 

Happy  they  who  their  affections  base  on  spiritual 
worth, 

Who,  when  the  death-angel  grants  us  freedom  from 
the  dross  of  earth, 

And  shall  come  that  soul  re-union  pledged  in  the 
eternal  sphere, 

Shall  not  miss  one  grace  nor  beauty  we  have  loved 
and  cherished  here ! 

Happy  they  !  For  moth,  corruption  ne'er  their  trea- 
sures can  destroy — 

Grant  us  Lord  of  earth  and  Heaven  such  a  source  of 
hope  and  joy. 


'TIS  HOME  WHERE  THE  HEART  IS. 


"  'Tis   home   where   the   heart  is !" — thus  saith  the 

poem — 

"  'Tis  home  where  the  heart  is,  wherever  we  roam ! 
'Mid  scenes  of  .confusion,  'mid  pleasure  or  pain, 
In  Sorrow's  dark  labyrinth — Fashion's  gay  train — • 
Whatever  fond  wishes  our  bosoms  enfold — 
If  our  search  be  for  honor,  for  fame,  or  for  gold — 
Through  whatever  changes  in  life  we  may  roam, 
Wherever    our    hearts    are — there — there    is    our 

home !" 

Ask  the  fair  child,  as,  in  innocent  glee 

He   roams   through   the  forest  glades,  careless  and 

free, 
Or,    sports   in   his   gladness   'neath    Heaven's   high 

dome, 

This  soul-stirring  inquiry  ! — Where  is  thy  home  ? 

79 


80  TIS    HOME    WHERE    THE    HEART    IS. 

He  will  point  in  reply  to  some  pleasant  retreat, 
Where   the   friends   of  his   childhood    in  harmony 

meet ; 

While,  forth  from  his  ruby  lips,  sweetly  doth  come 
The   words — "  Where    my  mother   is — there  is  my 

home  !" 

Ask  the  young  wife  as  she  stands  by  the  side 
Of  him  she  has  chosen  her  frail  barque  to  guide ; 
To  whom  she  has  breathed  the  fond  accents  of  love, 
Which,  though  spoken  on  earth,  are  recorded  above  ; 
With   a    sweet,    trusting    smile    she   will    quickly 

reply, 

While  a  glance  of  sincerity  beams  from  her  eye 
"  Through  whatever  scenes   my  loved  husband  may 

roam, 
Whatever  his  lot  may  be,  that  is  my  home  !" 

Ask  the  fond  mother  whose  kindness  and  love 
Are  training  her  offspring  for  regions  above  ! 
Ask  her  her  home,  her  heart's  empire  to  show  !         * 
She  will  answer — "  Wherever. those  loved  ones  may 

go; 

In  whatever  station  their  lots  may  be  cast, 

In  my  hopes  for  the  future,  my  joys  for  the  past; 


'TIS   HOME   WHERE    THE    HEAET   IS.  81 

Amid   whatever  scenes   those    loved   beings    may 

roam, 

With   them  will  my  heart  be — with    them   is    my 

home!" 

Go  ask  the  faithful  instructor  of  youth, 

As    he    guides,   in   the   paths  of  fair   science   and 

truth, 

Those  beings,  whose  actions,  for  good  or  for  ill, 
Depend  for  success  on  his  wisdom  and  skill ! 
In    reply     he   will    say — "  'Tis    within    Learning's 

halls, 

Where  the  stern  voice  of  duty  impressively  calls, 
And  points  to  where  genius  and  talents  have  come, 
Awaiting  my  counsel — there,  there  is  my  home  !" 

Go  ask  the  seaman,  who,  o'er  the  blue  sea, 
Guides  his  proud  vessel,  swift,  gallant,  and  free! 
Say  to  him,  when,  safe  on  shore  he  has  come — 
Tell  me,  brave  mariner !  where  is  thy  home  ? 
In  reply  he  will  point  you  to  old  Ocean's  wave, 
Whose  wild,  stormy  surges  the  sandy  shores  lave ; 
And  say — "  Where  the  billows  cast  high  their  white 

foam, 
Where  my  ship  rides  in  majesty,  there  is  my  home!" 


82  'TIS    HOME   WHKBE    THK    HEART   IS. 

i 

Go  ask  the  warrior,  fearless  and  bold, 
Wh.o  prizes  Fame's  laurels  more  highly  than  gold! 
He'll  direct  you  to  where,  on  the  wide  battle-plain, 
'Mid  the  groans  of  the  dying  his  comrades  are  slain'; 
To  where  the  wild  war-trumpet  sounds  its  alarms, 
'Mid  the  roaring  of  cannon,  the  clashing  of  arms ; 
Where  dangers  are  thickest,  where  dire  perils  come; 
Within  the  broad  battle-field — there  is  his  home ! 

Go  ask  the  Christian,  who,  *mid  toil  and  care, 
Humbly  the  cross  of  his  Saviour  doth  bear  ! 
In  true  faith  he'll  reply — "  In  the  regions  of  rest — • 
Those  fair,  happy  regions,  the  realms  of  the  blest — 
Where   bright-pinioned  angels,  where   saints  robed 

in  white, 

Sing  praises  unceasing  by  day  and  by  night ; 
Where  no  sin,  nor  temptation,  nor  sorrow  rnay  come, 
'Tis  there  that  my  heart  is,  yes,  there  is  rny  home !" 

Hath  my  poem  a  moral  with  sentiments  true  ? 
Or  sketched  in  bright  Fancy's  bewildering  hue  ? 
Are  we  riot  daily  taught  by  each  station  in  life — 
By  the  mother,  the  sister,  the  daughter,  the  wife, 
By  the  warrior,  seaman,  or  teacher  so  true, 
That  our  hearts  must  be  with  us  in  all  that  we  do? 


'TIS   HOME   WHERE    THE    HEART   IS.  83 

Then,  like  the  meek  Christian  whose  home  is  above, 
In  the  mansions  of  purity,  goodness,  and  love  ; 
'Mid  whatever  temptations  or  trials  we  roam, 
Tn  that   land  let  oar  hearts  be  I — let  that  world  be 
our  home  1 


WITHOUT  AN  ENEMY. 


MORTAL,  when  life's  scenes  are  ended, 

When  its  arduous  toils  are  o'er, 
When  the  'franchised  spirit-gladly 

Anchors  on  the  star-gemm'd  shore; 
Wouldst  t'hou,  while  thy  friends  are  mourning 

Over  all  earth  claims  of  thee, 
Have  inscribed  upon  thy  tomb-stone — 

Died  without  an  enemy  ? 

Oft  we  hear  it,  when  the  stricken 

Sorrow  o'er  the  silent  bier ; 
And  perform  the  last  sad  duty 

Due  to  those  they  cherished  here. 
'Tis  affection's  voice  that  prompts  it, 

And  we  would  not  harshly  chide  ; 
Though  to  claim  such  reputation 

Might  not  be  our  aim  and  pride. 
84 


WITHOUT   AN   ENEMY.  85 

He  who  hath  a  soul  within  him, 

Pie  who  doth  perform  his  part, 
Ever  faithful,  ever  fearless, 

In  the  world's  exciting  mart, 
Must  have  enemies  ;   the  craven, 

Coward  opposers  of  the  right 
Are  the  foes  of  all  enlisting 

Boldly  in  Truth's  earnest  fight. 

One  who  trod  the  purest  life-path 

Ever  trodden  here  on  earth ; 
One  who  through  a  death  triumphant 

Gave  to  man  his  second  birth ; 
Even  He,  the  God  incarnate, 

Veil'd  in  mortal  flesh  to  know 
All  the  griefs  of  erring  mortals, 

Had  His  enemies  below. 

For,  say  those  who  trace  His  records, 

"  In  the  agonies  of  death, 
Hanging  with  the  malefactors, 

Ere  He  yielded  up  His  breath  ; 
By  His  friends  denied,  forsaken, 

By  His  enemies  betray'd ; 
E'en  amid  these  throes  of  anguish, 

For  those  enemies  He  pray'd." 


O. 

K   UNIVERSITY 


86  WITHOUT   AN    ENEMY. 

Wouldst  thou  then,  aspiring  mortal, 

Die  without  an  enemy  ? 
Rather  pray  thy  earthly  life-course 

Like  thy  Master's  may  be  free 
"From  all  error ;  ever  striving 

Earnestly  against  the  wrong ; 
And  defending  the  defenceless, 

When  they're  injur'd  by  the  strong. 

Then,  though  enemies  surround  thee, 

Ever  seeking  to  betray  ; 
Trusting  in  the  crown'd  Eedeemer, 

Falter  not  upon  thy  way  ! 
But,  like  Him  be  ever  praying, 

With  a  fervent  heart  and  true — • 
Father,  grant  them  Thy  forgiveness  ! 

For  they  know  not  what  they  do  1 


THE  FROST  UPON  THE  PANE. 


THE  golden  sun  has  risen — all  nature  seems  to  wake, 
And  from  night's  gloomy  prison  her  morning  beams 

to  take  ; 

Our  planet,  clad  in  beauty,  upon  its  course  doth  roll, 
To   waken    thoughts  of    duty   within  the    grateful 

soul ; — 

While  o'er  the  fair  creation  steals  Winter's  icy  train, 
I  gaze  with  admiration  at  the  frost  upon  the  pane. 

Romantic  scenes  I'm  weaving  in  that  bright  fairy- 
land, 

And  scarce  the  while  believing  they're  wrought  by 
Fancy's  hand; 

They  tell  of  days  departed,  of  joys  no  more  to  come, 

When,  gay  and  joyous-hearted,  within  my  childhood's 

home, 

87 


88         THE  FROST  UPON  THE  PANE. 

I  traced  those  figures  airy  and  conn'd  them  o'er  again, 
And  thought  some  graceful  fairy  had  wrought  them 
on  the  pane. 


One  morning,  I  remember,  among  the  days  gone-by, 
One  morn  in  cold  December  beneath  a  cloudless  sky, 
Awak'd  from  childhood's  slumber,  from  out  my 

trundle-bed, 

I  rose,  and  to  my  Maker  my  morning  prayer  said ; 
Then,    turning   to  the   window  that  brought  day's 

beams  again, 
I  there  beheld  with  rapture  the  frost  upon  the  pane. 


In  childish  admiration  my  loving  sire  I  sought, 

And  asked  an  explanation  of  what  had  there  been 
wrought ; 

He  fondly  smiled  upon  me  and  strove,  in  accents 
kind, 

To  fashion  proud  philosophy  to  suit  my  infant  mind  ; 

I  listened  with  intense  delight — I  could  not  long  re- 
main 

In  ignorance  of  that  fair  sight — the  frost  upon  the 
pane. 


THE  FKOST  UPON  THE  PANE.         89 

My  soul  with  zealous  ardor  and  interest  did  glow ; 
The  truth — I  could  not  doubt  it !  for  father  said  "'twas 

so: 

Still  did  my  busy  fancy  paint  images  most  fair, 
With   witching    necromancy  .among  the  frost-work 

there ; 

For,  e'en  amid  life's  duties  those  scenes  I  trace  again, 
And  revel  in  the  beauties  of  the  frost  upon  the  pane. 


KEMINISCENCES. 


MOTHER,  I'm  thinking  of  tliee  now, 

As  when,  in  childhood's  years, 
Thy  kind  hand  bath VI  my  youthful  brow, 

And  dried  my  childish  tears.     Dear  friend, 
My  transient,  childish  tears. 

It  seems  a  long,  long  while  ago, 

Since  that  fond  touch  I  felt ; 
Or  since,  to  lisp  my  infant  prayer, 

Morning  and  eve  I  knelt.     Morning  and  eve 
To  breathe  my  prayer,  I  knelt. 

For,  when  too  young  to  know  thy  worth, 

Death  bore  thee  far  away ; 
And  left  me  on  this  weary  earth, 

Without  thy  care  to  stray.     Helpless  and  lone 
Without  thy  care  to  stray. 
90 


KEMINISCENCES.  91 

And  mother,  changes  sad  have  come 

Upon  my  path  since  then ; 
And  I  have  oft  in  secret  yearned 

For  thy  loved  smile  again.  Have  yearned  to  see 
That  kindly  smile  again. 

They  tell  me  of  a  sister's  love, 

A  brother's  gentle  power ; 
And  whisper  of  fond  friendship's  ties 

To  cheer  each  lonely  hoar.     Ah,  sacred  ties, 
To  cheer  each  lonely  hour. 


Yes,  these  are  dear — I  prize  them  all; 

But  ne'er  can  I  enshrine 
Within  my  heart  an  image  like 

That  cherished  one  of  thine.     No  image  can 
Usurp  the  place  of  thine. 


They  say  I'm  cold — perchance  'tis  true  : — • 

I  would  not  dare  deny  ; 
For  I  have  learn'd  to  check  the  love 

That  in  my  heart  doth  lie.     That  love,  dear  one, 
Extends  to  thee  on  high  ! 


92  KEMINISCENCES. 

And  to  the  partner  of  thy  cares — • 

My  father — loved  so  well — 
Who  soon  was  called  to  join  thee,  where 

The  saints  and  angels  dwell.     That  happy  land, 
Where  saints  and  angels  dwell. 

And  oft,  when  sad  and  lonely  here, 

I  long  for  unfeigned  love, 
I  fancy  you,  my  parents  dear, 

Look  down  from  Heaven  above.     Look  clown 
And  bless  your  offspring  with  your  love. 

Then  I'll  not  mourn,  if  here  below 

Your  spirits  guide  my  way  ; 
And  lead  me  through  this  vale  of  woe, 

To  realms  of  endless  day.     Yes,  safely  guide 
To  realms  of  endless  day. 

Enough  to  know  that  when  on  earth 

Life's  silver  cord  is  riven — 
The  orphan  and  the  motherless 

Will  be  secure  in  Heaven.     Blest  and  secure, 
With  Jesus  Christ  in  Heaven. 


THE  CHILD'S  MATIN  HYMN. 

TRANSLATED    FROM    THE    FRENCH    OF    LAMARTINE. 


OH,  Father  !  whom  my  sire  adores, 
To  whom  my  mother  humbly  bows; 

Whose  name,  breathed  only  on  our  knees, 
With  terror  and  with  sweetness  glows. 

'Tis  said  the  bright  and  glowing  sun 
Is  but  a  plaything  in  Thy  sight ; 

That  underneath  Thy  feet  'tis  hung, 
Like  to  a  lamp  of  silver  bright. 

'Tis  said  Thou  causeth  to  be  born 
The  birds  within  the  fields  so  gay ; 

And  giveth  to  the  little  child 
A  soul  to  love  Thee  day  by  day. 

'Tis  said  'tis  Thou  who  dost  produce 

The  flowers  that  in  the  garden  grow ; 
And  that  without  Thee — covetous, 

The  orchard  would  no  fruit  bestow. 
93 


94  THE  CHILD'S  MATIN  HYMN. 

The  bounties  which  Thy  goodness  gives, 

To  all  the  Universe  are  free ; 
No  insect  is  forgot,  that  lives, 

At  this  great  banquet  spread  by  Thee. 

The  lamb  doth  on  the  wild  thyme  graze, 
The  goat  the  cytisus  doth  love; 

To  the  urn's  edge  the  little  fly 

The  white  drops  of  my  milk  doth  move. 

The  lark  the  bitter  grain  doth  leave, 
And  from  the  gleaner  soars  above ; 

The  sparrow  seeks  the  winnower — 
The  child  doth  its  kind  mother  love. 

And,  if  the  gifts  Thou  dost  produce, 
We  would  each  day  from  Thee  obtain, 

At  morn,  at  evening  and  dawn, 

'Tis  meet  we  should  pronounce  Thy  name. 

Oh,  God  !  although  my  stamm'ring  tongue 
Scarce  speaks  this  name,  by  angels  feared, 

Within  the  holy  choirs  above, 
Even  a  little  child  is  heard. 


THE   CHILD'S  MATIN  HYMN.  95 

Ob,  since  from  far  He  deigns  to  bear 
The  vows  tbat  from  our  hearts  proceed, 

I'll  ceaselessly  demand  of  Him 

The  heavenly  gifts  tbat  others  need. 

My  God,  give  waters  to  the  fount — 
Give  feathers  to  the  sparrows  small ! 

Give  wool  unto  the  little  lamb — 
Cause  dew  upon  the  plains  to  fall ! 

Give  health  unto  the  surf 'ring  sick! 

Bestow  upon  the  beggar  bread  ! 
Freedom  unto  the  prisoner  give  ! 

Grant  shelter  to  the  orphan's  head ! 

Upon  the  sire  who  fears  the  Lord, 

A  numerous  family  bestow  ! 
Grant  grace  and  wisdom  unto  me, 

That  peace  my  mother  e'er  may  know. 


GONE    TO   BEST. 


GONE  to  rest !  these  words,  how  soothing, 

Fall  they  on  the  mourner's  ear; 
As  he  bends,  in  speechless  anguish, 

O'er  the  sad  and  solemn  bier. 

Death  has  come  with  his  grim  visage, 

And  his  sure  unerring  dart; 
Stilled  the  quick  pulse,  chilled  the  life-blood, 

Hushed  the  lately  throbbing  heart. 

Lowly  lies  the  son  and  brother, 
Husband,  father,  neighbor,  friend  ; 

He  has  left  earth  for  another 

World,  where  joys  may  never  end. 

While,  beside  his  pale  form,  shrouded, 
Stand  the  dear  ones,  loved  in  life ; 

Gazing  on  that  form  beloved, 
That  has  ceased  its  mortal  strife. 
9G 


GONE  TO    REST.  97 

Arid,  while  musing  on  the  virtues 

Which  endeared  him  unto  all, 
Hope  seems  dying  in  each  bosom, 

Sorrow  doth  each  heart  appall. 

But  a  still,  small  voice,  so  cheering, 
Now  pervades  each  throbbing  breast ; 

"Whispering,  in  gentle  accents, 
He  has  sweetly  gone  to  rest. 

Stricken  mourners,  cease  your  sorrow  I 

Hope  and  Faith  do  sweetly  say — 
"  Wait  ye  for  a  brighter  morrow ! 

When,  in  realms  of  perfect  day, 

You  may  meet  the  dear  departed, 

In  the  region  of  the  blest ; 
'Mid  the  gentle  and  true-hearted, 

Who,  with  him,  have  gone  to  rest." 
9 


DESCRIPTION  OF  A  WINTER  MORNING. 

A  RIDE  THROUGH  HUNTINGDON  VALLEY,  MONTGOMERY 

COUNTY,    PA.      Written  by  request,   ON    NEW    YEAR'S 

DAY,    1861. 


'TWAS  morn — and  o'er  the  vale  of  Huntingdon, 
Shone  forth,  unclouded,  the  bright  winter  sun ; 
Dame  Nature,  having  doffed  her  robes  of  green, 
Clad  in  a  spangled  livery  was  seen ; 
Each  object  she  presented,  seemed  to  cheer, 
And  greet  with  radiant  smiles  th'  infant  Year. 
O'er  earth,  a  pure,  unsullied  sheet  of  snow 
Concealed  the  Frost-king's  ravages  below  ; 
"While  beauteous  crystals  in  the  sunlight  shone, 
Like  glitt'ring  icebergs  in  the  polar  zone  ; 
Each  evergreen  whose  beauty  nought  could  blight, 
Clothed  in  a  spotless  drapery  of  white ; 
Relieved  by  spangled  robes  of  brightest  green, 
In  soul-entrancing  loveliness  was  seen  ; 

98 


DESCRIPTION   OF   A   WINTER   MORNING-.  99 

Each  prancing  steed  that  bounded  swift  along, 
Neighing  in  concert  with  the  sleigh  bell's  song, 
Seeni'd  all-inspired  with  th'  enliv'ning  mirth 
That  ever  cheers  the  denizens  of  earth  ; 
When   feath'ry   snow-flakes   from    the    clouds    de- 
scend, 

And,  in  one  glitt'ring  sheet  of  whiteness  blend; 
That  rnorn  one  year  ago,  o'er  Nature  smiled, 
And  gladly  welcomed  her  fair,  infant  child  ; 
Who,  calmly,  yesternight,  from  earth-life  free, 
Launched  on  th'  ocean  of  Eternity. 
And  now,  another  child  to  her  is  born, 
Whose  birth  we  hail  on  this  auspicious  morn ; 
A  morn  as  bright,  as  full  of  wintry  cheer, 
As  that  which  ushered  in  his  brother  year. 
Thanks  to  kind  Heaven  for  such  scenes  as  these! 
So  fraught  with  beauty,  and  so  formed  to  please ; 
For,  gazing  on  these  splendors,  all  unsought, 
Which  Nature's  cunning  artist  here  hath  wrought ; 
Oh,  who  can  say  stern  winter  hath  no  charms, 
When,  folding  closely  in  his  frost-bound  arms 
Each  rippling  streamlet,  shrub,  and  shady  tree, 
Now  robb'd  of  their  bright  summer  livery? 
Each  season  hath  its  pleasures,  beauties,  too; 
In  turn  unfolded  to  the  ravish'd  view  ; 


100         DESCRIPTION    OF    A   WINTER    MORNING. 

And  He  who  marks  their  changes  as  they  roll, 
This  lesson  teaches  to  the  grateful  soul — 
From  these,  oh,  man,  from  these  unchanging  laws 
Learn  to  adore  the  great,  primeval  Cause ; 
And  while  His  gifts  His  love  unfolds  to  view, 
Know  that  the  bounteous  Giver  loves  thee,  too. 


MY    VOCATION.. 


SITTING  in  my  quiet  school-room, 
Fann'd  by  perfurn'd  summer  breeze ; 

Listening  to  the  mirthful  laughter 
Of  the  rompers  'neath  yon  trees ; 

I  am  now  in  soul  transported 
'Mongst  the  merry,  joyous  train 

Of  youth's  playmates;  and  seem  living 
Happy  school-days  o'er  again. 

Now  the  school-bell  loudly  ringing, 

Calls  each  pupil  to  his  seat ; 
Ceased  the  playing  and  the  singing — 

Happy  smiles  my  vision  greet. 

Slates  and  books  and  maps  appearing, 
Now  in  turn  each-dear  one  cries — 

"  Tell  me  please  what  means  this  sentence,  - 
Where  these  winding  rivers  rise." 
9*  101 


102  MY    VOCATION. 

'Mid  a  host  of  varied  duties, 

Thus  each  day  and  hour  I  move, 

Sometimes  irksome,  always  pleasant, 
In  an  atmosphere  of  love  ; 

As  each  one  his  lesson  conning, 
Claims  assistance  from  my  hand  ; 

All  the  while  obeying  promptly, 
Cheerfully  each  just  demand. 

Fruit  and  flowers  my  desk  adorning, 
Scent  the  balmy  summer  air  ; 

Cull'd  by  childish  hands  each  morning, 
Profter'd  me  by  young  and  fair. 

Who  will  say  the  teacher's  mission 
Is  not  one  of  hope  and  love  ? 

Who  will  say  no  joys  elysian 
Wait  him  in  his  home  above  ? 

Make  me,  oh,  divinest  Teacher, 
Faithful  in  my  duties  here  ! 

Waiting  rny  reward  with  patience, 
In  a  higher,  purer  sphere ! 


LUCK  AND   PLUCK. 

"  What  men  call  luck 
Is  the  prerogative  of  valiant  souls, 
The  fealty  life  pays  its  rightful  kings." — J.  R.  Lowell. 


How  much  on  this  revolving  sphere, 

That  people  term  success, 
Depends,  not  on  the  will  of  Fate, 

But  the  will  which  we  possess; 
And,  though  the  world- wise  connoisseur 

May  boldly  call  it  luck  ; 
As  boldly  I  the  question  ask — - 

Friends,  is  it  luck  or  pluck? 

Your  neighbor  starts  in  business ; 

He  works  and  perseveres  ; 
His  gold  and  bank-notes  fast  increa-so 

With  his  increase  of  years  ; — 
He  basks  secure  'neath  fortune's  smiles! 

The  wonld  exclaims—"  What  luck  !" 
But,  is  the  world's  decision  right  ? 

Or,  was  it  only  pluck  ? 
103 


104  LUCK    AND   PLUCK. 

Another,  by  some  sad  mishap, 

His  fortune  all  has  lost; 
For,  far  too  hasty  he  has  been, 

Nor  paus'd  to  count  the  cost ; 
He  tries  again — seeks  to  avoid 

The  rock  on  which  he  struck ; 
He  soon  becomes  a  millionaire — 

Say — was  this  luck,  or  pluck  ? 

One,  on  the  pathway  to  renown 

And  honor,  now  would  turn; 
And  nightly  doth  the  midnight  oil 

For  him   in  secret  burn  ; 
He  nears  the  pinnacle  of  fame  ! 

Earth's  idlers  deem  it  luck  ; 
But,  was  it  luck  that  placed  him  there  ? 

Or,  an  unyielding  pluck? 

Now,  my  opinion's  briefly  this  : — 

No  matter  who  agree ; — 
I  make  it  known  to  one  and  all, 

Frankly  and  candidly. 
That,  though  so  much  is  often  said 

Of  good  and  evil  luck, 
What  men  call  the  decrees  of  Fate, 

Are  rather  pluck  than  luck. 


I    WOULDN'T    BE    JEALOUS,    IF    I    WEBB 
YOU. 


WEARY  probatipners,  one  and  all, 

Treading  the  face  of  this  earthly  ball, 

Though  your  lot  seems  hard,  and  your  irksome  way 

Grows  rougher  and  darker  every  day  ; 

If  the  ways  of  God  you've  not  understood, 

When  the  wicked  have  triumph'd  above  the  good, 

I'd  scan  such  events  with  a  closer  view, 

But  I  wouldn't  be  jealous,  if  I  were  you. 

If  your  neighbor,  by  methods  you  can't  explain, 

Each  day  and  hour  seems  wealth  to  gain ; 

And  by  means  you  do  not  understand, 

Adds  houses  to  houses,  and  land  to  land ; 

If  his  "  loved  ones  at  home  "  costly  raiment  have  had, 

While  yours  were  in  coarsest  garments  clad  ; 

Don't  let  such  events  make  your  spirits  "blue;" — 

I  wouldn't  be  jealous,  if  I  were  you. 

105 


106  i  WOULDN'T  BE  JEALOUS,  IF  i  WERE  YOU. 


If  another  more  tact  than  you  can  boast, 

Seeking  his  gain  at  another's  cost ; 

And,  by  some  most  marvellous  mystery, 

To  fame  and  honor  seerns  rising  high — 

Seems  gaining  the  acme  for  which  you've  wrought, 

And  with  diligent  efforts,  yet  vainly  sought ; 

I'd  honestly  labor  to  gain  it  too — 

But  I  wouldn't  be  jealous,  if  I  were  you. 

If  one  with  a  beauteous  form  and  face, 
Endowed  with  every  witching  grace ; 
The  observ'd  of  all  admiring  eyes, 
Wins  the  devotion  you  so  much  prize  ; 
If  the  flattering  words  that  freely  flow, 
Should  rouse  in  your  bosom  an  envious  glow, 
I'd  thank  kind  Heaven  for  blessings,  too, 
But  I  wouldn't  be  jealous,  if  I  were  you. 

Ah,  no !  all  these  glittering  toys  of  earth, 
Eluding  our  grasp,  are  of  little  worth ; 
For  did  we  but  know  the  toil  and  pain 
We  must  oft  endure  to  secure  such  gain  ; 
Methinks  we  would  well-contented  be 
With  what  we  have,  and  with  what  we  see  ; 
Then  ever  to  God  and  yourself  be  true  ; — 
But  I  wouldn't  be  jealous,  if  I  were  you. 


CHILDHOOD'S    HOME. 

STANZAS  SUPPOSED  TO  HAVE  BEEN  COMPOSED  BY  A 
LADY  DURING  A  VISIT  TO  THE  HOME  OF  HER  CHILD- 
HOOD, AFTER  SEVERAL  YEARS  RESIDENCE  IN  THE 

WEST. —  Written  by  request. 


BELOVED  scenes  of  early  youth, 

Once  more  you  greet  my  gaze ; 
While  mem'ry  wafts  me  back  again, 

To  happy  by-gone  days ; 
To  days  when  I,  in  childish  sport, 

Eoam'd  o'er  these  fields  so  fair, 
Protected  by  a  mother's  love, 

A  father's  guardian  care. 

And  though,  instead  of  lov'd  ones,  now, 

I  stranger  forms  behold ; 
Familiar  objects  meet  my  gaze, 

Recalling  days  of  old. 
107 


108  CHILDHOOD'S  HOME. 

That  quaint  old  bouse — the  very  same 

I  cherish'd  when  a  child  ; 
The  trees  beneath  whose  shade  I  play'cl, 

Fann'd  by  the  breezes  mild. 

Tender's  the  spring,  the  dear  old  spring, 

Whose  waters  oft  I've  quaff 'd  ; 
And  ne'er  will  I  again,  I  ween, 

Enjoy  so  sweet  a  draught, 
As  that  which  from  its  fountain  flowed, 

When,  in  those  joyous  hours, 
I  wandered  near  its  verdant  banks, 

To  gather  woodland  flowers. 

The  river  winds  as  peacefully, 

As  in  those  days  of  yore ; 
Its  sparkling  waves  sport  just  as  free 

Along  its  pebbly  shore, 
But,  near  its  banks,  its  cherished  banks, 

A  change  I  now  behold  : 
A  scene  that  did  not  meet  my  gaze, 

Within  those  days  of  old. 

Along  the  artificial  road 

The  burdened  iron  horse 
Glides  near  the  wires  which  testify, 

Of  our  immortal  Morse. 


CHILDHOOD'S  HOME.  109 

Why  did  I  leave  these  rural  haunts, 

In  distant  paths  to  roam  ? — 
Forever  dear  thou'lt  be  to  me, 

My  loved,  my  childhood's  home. 

And  when  in  the  far  West  I  join 

The  friends  who  wait  me  there, 
I'll  picture  oft  these  peaceful  shades 

'Mid  Nature's  beauties  rare. 
Though  it  may  never  be  my  lot 

To  visit  them  again, 
Within  my  heart  one  treasur'd  spot 

They  ever  will  retain. 
10 


BIRTH-DAY     PENCILLINGS. 


ANOTHER  link  in  his  pond'rous  chain 
Old  Time  has  wrought  for  me ; 

And  borne  me,  on  his  restless  wings, 
Nearer  Eternity. 

Another  page  in  life's  mystic  book, 

It  nqw  is  mine  to  scan ; 
Then  let  me  first  each  page  review, 

Since  I  its  ccmsre  began. 

And  while  I  muse  on  that  lifeless  Past, 
Which  its  dead  will  not  inter, 

What  a  host  of  mern'ries,  bright  and  sad, 
Within  my  bosom  stir. 

Forgiveness  I'd  extend  to  all 

Who've  wronged  me  here  below, 

And  ask  that  on  them,  blessings  true 
Kind  Heaven  may  bestow. 
110 


BIRTH-DAY    PENCILLINGS.  Ill 

And  when  they  act  from  motives  pure 

As  pearls  on  Truth's  diadem, 
May  they  ne'er  be  judged,  as  harshly  judged, 

As  mine  have  been  "by  them. 

For  you,  congenial  spirits  dear. 

Who,  with  a  gentle  hand, 
Have  sought  my  pilgrimage  to  cheer, 

Toward  th'  celestial  land  ; —  „ 

For  you  I  ask  that  choicest  gifts, 

Shower'd  by  a  hand  divine, 
May  crown  your  earthly  path  with  bliss 

Such  as  you  shed  o'er  mine. 

While,  for  myself,  I  would  no  more 

Of  life's  alloy  secure, 
Than  He  who  formed  this  throbbing  heart, 

Knows  that  it  can  endure. 

I  ask  no  high  position  here 

In  the  "militant  church  "  below, 
But,  in  the  "  triumphant  church  "  above, 

Eternal  bliss  would  know. 


112  BIKTH-DAY     PENCILLINGS. 

Then  bear  me  safely,  father  Time, 

Upon  thy  restless  wings ; 
Till  Death  shall  bid  rny  spirit  soar 

From  earth  and  earthly  things. 

And  whether  th'  links  that  yet  remain, 

For  me  be  many  or  few, 
May  they  more  closely  bind  rny  soul 

To  th'  cross  of  th'  Tried  and  True. 


SUMMER  CLOUDS. 


BRIGHT  and  beauteous  summer  clouds, 

Floating  in  the  vault  above ; 
Seeming  like  pure  angel  shrouds 

From  the  realms  of  light  and  love  ; — 
Whence  in  beauty  come  ye  now, 

Emblems  of  a  brighter  sphere; — 
Flit  o'er  Heaven's  azure  brow, 

Then  in  silence  disappear  '/ 

Are  ye  messengers  of  joy, 

From  the  regions  of  the  blest; 
Luring  us  from  sin's  alloy, 

Unto  an  eternal  rest  ? 
Proud  Philosophy  hath  taught 

Both  your  mission  and  your  cause  ; — 
Trophies  unto  science  brought, 

Governed  by  unerring  law.3. 
10*  113 


114:  SUMMER   CLOUDS. 

But  my  wayward  fancy- oft 

Paints  for  you  a  higher  source, 
As  I  mark  you  float  aloft, 

Gently  on  your  destined  course. 
Heralds  bright  you  seem  to  me, 

Chasing  every  shade  of  gloom, 
Brightening  each  mystery 

Of  the  world  beyond  the  tomb. 

I  remember,  when  a  child, 

How  I  marked  you  gently  part ; 
While  imagination  wild 

Ee veiled  in  my  throbbing  heart, 
And,  as  you  revealed  to  me 

Op'nings  of  an  azure  hue, 
Eagerly  I've  watched  to  see 

Angel  faces  peeping  through. 

Now,  when  riper  years  have  come, 

Chasing  childhood's  airy  dream, 
Emblems  of  a  brighter  home 

To  rny  spirit  still  you  seem. 
Summer  clouds,  in  beauty  bright, 

Ever  float  aloft  as  now  ; 
And,  on  airy  pinions  light, 

Flit  o'er  Heaven's  azure  brow  ! 


TO  MY  NIECE  ON  HER  NINTH  BIKTH-DAY. 


THOU  cherished  blossom,  sent  to  bloom 

In  Nature's  garden  fair, 
Object  of  my  unchanging  love, 

And  solace  of  my  care  ; 
My  unassuming  pen  essays 

To  trace  these  lines  for  thee, 
Whilst  I  am  musing  o'er  the  Past — 
.     The  Future's  mystery. 

Nine  summers  now  have  kissed  thy  brow- 
That  brow  so  young  and  fair  ; 

And  yet,  thy  heart  hath  scarcely  known 
A  shade  of  grief  or  care. 

A  doting  father's  only  pride — 
A  mother's  only  joy, 

Thy  little  barque  doth  smoothly  glide — 
No  breakers  e'er  annoy 
115 


116     TO    MY    NIECE    ON    HER    NINTH    BIRTH-DAY. 

But  yet,  light-hearted  little  one, 

Though  now  thy  lot  is  blest, 
We  know  not  what  dark  shades  of  gloom 

May  on  thy  future  rest. 
Nor  need  we  know — I  only  ask 

Whate'er  thy  lot  may  be, 
That  strength  sufficient  for  thy  day 

Be  granted  unto  thee. 

I  ask  not  wealth  his  costly  gifts 

To  lavish  'round  thy  home ; 
I  ask  not  that  thou  mayst  shine 

In  Fashion's  gilded  dome; 
I  ask  not  Beauty  fair  to  be 

Thy  portion  here  on  earth  ; 
To  tempt  the  sychophant  to  'lure 

Thee  from  the  homestead  hearth. 

But  I  would  ask  that  wisdom  pure, 

And  virtue  be  thy  lot — 
That,  'mid  each  varied  scene  of  life, 

Thy  God  be  unforgot ; 
I  ask  that  virtue,  truth,  and  grace, 

May  reign  within  thy  heart; 
And  that  thou  mayst,  in  future  years, 

Act  the  true  teaman's  part. 


TO    MY   NIECE    ON    HER    NINTH    BIRTH-DAY.    117 

A  few  more  days,  and  then,  as  wont, 

Thy  form  I  may  entwine, 
And  gently  weave  my  hand  among 

Those  chestnut-curls  of  thine — 
Till  then,  adieu !  and  when,  on  earth, 

Thy  mortal  course  is  run, 
May  angel  hosts  triumphantly 

Proclaim  thy  vict'ry  won. 


"GILPIN'S  EOCKS." 

CECIL    COUNTY,    MARYLAND. 


ROMANTIC  spot  in  Cecil's  rural  shade ! 

My  muse  would  fain  pour  forth  her  lays  to  thee ; 
For,  'mid  thy  rustic  haunts  I  see  portrayed 

The  noble  impress  of  the  Deity. 
'Twas  on  a  sultry  summer  morn  I  sought 

Thy  rugged  rocks  and  brightly  plashing  spray, 
With  friends  beloved,  whose  social  converse,  fraught 

With  wit  and  wisdom,  whiled  the  hours  away. 

Why  did  I  sigh  to  linger  'mid  thy  scenes, 
When  fleeting  time  bade  me  no  longer  stay  ? 

Was  it  because  bright  Sol,  with  scorching  beams, 
Shone  forth  effulgent  o'er  our  destined  way  ? 

Was  it  because  in  leaving  thee,  I  left 

Fond  friends  endeared  to  me  by  kindred  ties; 

Of  their  sweet  converse  soon  to  be  bereft, 

While  long  and  weary  miles  between  us  rise  ? 
118 


119 


Yes,  this  in  part ! — But  had  1  sought  thy  shades 

With  no  companion  for  my  solitude, 
I  could  have  lingered  long  within  each  glade, 

And  viewed  each  scene,  majestic,  wild,  and  rude. 
Bock  piled  on  rock  in  rural  grandeur  rise, 

While  o'er  them,  bright  and  free,  the  waters  play, 
Shaded  by  trees,  which,  towering  toward  the  skies, 

Obstruct  th'  entrance  of  each  solar  ray. 

What  work  of  art  more  beautiful  and  grand, 

Though  wrought  with  finest  touch  of  human  skill, 
Than  this  rude  structure  of  th'  Almighty's  hand, 

Who  fashioned  it  and  formed  it  at  His  will  ? 
To  me,  those  wild  and  unfrequented  scenes, 

The  bounteous  hand  of  Nature  there  displays, 
Are  far  more  beauteous  than  the  painter's  dreams, 

Kevealed  on  canvass  to  th'  admiring  gaze. 

Sweet  spot,  adieu!  and  though  I  never  more 

May  roam  amid  thy  rustic  haunts  so  fair, 
Fond  Memory  must  forsake  her  throne  before 

I  can  forget  thy  beauties  wild  and  fair. 
For,  like  the  friends  who  with  me  sought  thy  shades, 

Thy  image  is  impressed  upon  my  heart, 
Never  to  be  effaced  by  time  or  change, 

The  freaks  of  fortune,  or  the  works  of  art. 


AUTUMN  LEAVES. 


HEEE,  within  my  silent  chamber, 

List  I  to  th'  Autumn  rain, 
As  it  falls  with  ceaseless  patter, 

Gently  on  my  window-pane; 
While  I  gaze  with  admiration 

As  th'  earth  the  mist  receives, 
O'er  the  fair  face  of  creation, 

At  the  bright-tinged  Autumn  leaves. 

Autumn  leaves — how  wise  a  lesson 

Does  their  silent  language  teach— 
With  what  eloquence  impressive 

They  to  erring  mortals  preach  ! 
Telling  us  that  this  world's  pleasures, 

Fleeting,  transient,  are  as  they; 
Warning  us  to  place  our  treasures 

In  the  realms  of  perfect  day. 
120 


AUTUMN   LEAVES.  121 

Autumn  leaves,  your  dazzling  beauty 

Calms  the  weary,  troubled  soul ; 
Leading  it  through  paths  of  duty, 

To  its  God-appointed  goal. 
Harbinger  of  stern  old  winter, 

Soon  you'll  leave  your  parent  bough ; 
Where  ye  cling  in  graceful  clusters, 

Winning  admiration  now. 

Meet  it  seems,  that  when  the  spirit 

Leaves  its  tenement  of  clay, 
And  is  summoned  to  inherit 

Joys  that  will  not  fade  away  ; 
When  our  mother  Earth's  fair  bosom 

Gently  each  pale  form  receives, 

• 

It  should  be  when  ye  are  fading, 

Bright  and  beauteous  Autumn  leaves. 

11 


THE  SPIRIT-LAND. 

"  Heaven  is  not  far  from  those  who  see 

With  the  true  spirit  sight  j 
But  near,  and  in  the  very  heart 
Of  those  who  think  aright." 


WHY  speak  in  such  mysterious  tones 

Of  the  far-off,  spirit-land ; 
Where  sing,  in  strains  of  music  sweet, 

A  happy,  angel  l^and  ? 
Why  gaze  upon  the  azure  sky, 

Smiling  in  beauty  'round ; 
And  say — "  Beyond  yon  ether  fair, 

The  Spirit-land  is  found  ?" 

It  may  be  that  my  thoughts  are  wild, 
And  that  they  sometimes  stray, 

Like  to  a  careless,  wayward  child, 
From  their  proper  sphere  away ; 
122 


THE   SPIBIT-LAND.  123 

But  oft  methinks  the  Spirit-land 

Pervades  the  soul  within, 
When,  deep  within  that  soul,  there  lies 

No  consciousness  of  sin. 

When  a  Saviour's  love  doth  reign  supreme, 

Our  errors  all  forgiven ; 
And  His  cheering  smile  in  our  spirits  beam, 

This,  this,  I  say,  is  heaven. 
I  would  not  doubt  that  Holy  Writ 

Which  describes  those  realms  so  fair ; — 
The  crystal  fountains,  the  golden  gates, 

Arid  th'  bright- winged  seraphs  there. 

But  yet  methinks  if  we  ever  would 

That  blissful  world  attain, 
Those  happy  scenes  must  be  felt  within, 

Ere  its  portals  we  may  gain. 
Far,  far  above  us  may  be  that  sphere, 

Where  our  spirits  freed  may  roam ; 
Yet  these  souls  from  sin  must  be  ransomed  here 

To  enjoy  so  bright  a  home. 


GOD  MADE  US  TO  BE  HAPPY. 


CANST  thou  doubt  it  ?  Look  around  tLei 
See  each  fruitful,  verdant  field, 

Telling  of  the  bounteous  harvest 
It  will  to  the  tiller  yield. 

Look  upon  the  crystal  waters  I 
Listen  to  each  songster's  note  ! 

As  he  warbles  forth  his  praises 
Sweetly  from  his  tuneful  throat ! 

See  all  animated  nature 

Sporting  in  the  sun's  bright  rays; 
Giving  to  their  wise  Creator 

Humble  thanks  and  grateful  praiso  1 

Yiew  the  azure  vault  above  thee, 

Spangled  with  each  sparkling  gem  ! 
Far  more  brilliant,  far  more  lovely 

Than  the  monarch's  diadem. 
124 


GOD   MADE    US   TO    BE    HAPPY.  125 

•View  these  scenes,  thou  child  of  sorrow, 
And  from  them  a  lesson  learri ! 

Yet  on  thee  a  brighter  morrow- 
Fortune's  varying  hand  may  turn. 

Put  thy  trust  in  Him  who  made  thee — 
Placed  thee  in  this  beauteous  world ! 

Let  no  trials  e'er  dismay  thee ! 

Keep  hope's  banner  wide  unfurled ! 

He  designs  His  erring  children 

To  be  happy  here  below  ; 
Though  he  sometimes  dregs  our  gladness 

With  the  bitter  drops  of  woe. 

Yet,  remember,  fellow-traveller 

To  the  same  appointed  goal, 
That  he  gives  us  these  afflictions 

But  to  purify  the  soul  1 

Onward  in  the  path  of  duty 

Let  thy  footsteps  firmly  press ! 
And  thou  early  wilt  discover, 

'Tis  the  road  to  happiness. 


FUGITIVE   LAYS. 

FOR    OAK    LAWN,    MONTGOMERY    COUNTY,    PA. 


I'M  thinking  of  a  winsome  spot 

Full  many  miles  away  ; 
Around  which  bloom,  in  sweet  perfume, 

Bright  flowers  and  blossoms  gny. 
In  Autumn,  in  luxuriant  pride, 

Among  their  leaves  of  green, 
Are  purple  grape  and  velvet  peach 

In  rich  profusion  seen. 

In  winter,  when  the  crested  snow 

Whitens  each  hill  and  vale, 
The  cheering  blaze  within  doth  bid 

The  haughty  frost-king  quail. 
I'm  thinking,  too,  of  loved  ones  there, 

As  busy  mem'ry  roams  ; — • 
Of  those  whose  smiling  faces  cheer 

One  of  my  earthly  homes. 
126 


FUGITIVE    LAYS.  127 

For  I  have  many  homes  below, 

If  (as  the  poet  says) 
Our  home  is  found  wherever  glow 

The  true  heart's  brightest  rays , 
Where  warmest  welcome  waits  us,  when 

We  to  its  threshold  come  ; 
If  this  be  true,  'tis  mine  to  claim 

Many  an  earthly  home. 

And  this  is  one — this  winsome  spot 

Full  many  miles  away — 
For  it  the  bright  Forget-me-not 

Blooms  in  my  heart  for  aye. 
Upon  this  pleasant  summer  eve 

My  fancy  wanders  there ; — 
Ye  sighing  zephyrs,  on  your  wings 

My  kindest  wishes  bear. 

Oh,  bear  them  to  the  cherished  friends 

Who  cluster  'round  that  hearth  ; 
Whose  sympathizing  kindness  cheers 

My  pilgrimage  on  earth. 
And  may  their  future  lot  be  blest 

As  they  have  blest  mine  own ! 
May  theirs  be  an  eternal  rest, 

'Mid  joys  earth  hath  not  known  ! 


128  FUGITIVE   LAYS. 

Beloved  friends,  your  'membrance  dear 

Illumes  life's  rugged  way ; 
God  bless  you  in  your  sojourn  here  1 

God  bless  you  all  for  aye ! 
But  an  !  the  waning  hours  forbid 

This  converse  sweet  with  you ; 
For  sterner  duties  wait  me  now ; — • 

Ye  gentle  ones,  adieu  1 


CURLING   SMOKE. 


O'ER  a  landscape  bare  and  brown, 
Blasted  by  the  frost-king's  stroke  ; 

Eising  from  the  busy  town, 

See  the  graceful,  curling  smoke  ! 

Yesternight  the  atmosphere 
Bade  it  sink  unto  the  earth  ; 

Now  it  soars  through  ether  clear, 
Toward  the  realms  of  higher  worth. 

Upward,  from  consuming  flames 

Takes  it  its  etherial  way  ; 
Purpled  by  the  golden  rays 

Of  the  setting  "  king  of  day." 

Like  a  thing  of  witching  grace, 
On  its  heav'nward  course  it  goes ; 

How  T  love  that  course  to  trace, 
'Mid  these  seasons  of  repose  I 
129 


130  CURLING    SMOKE. 

Spirit  whom  the  saints  invoke, 
Unto  whom  we  bow  the  knee, 

Upward,  like  the  curling  smoke, 
Henceforth  let  my  life-course  be. 


FIDELITY. 

"  False  to  the  living,  if  thou  wilt, 
But  faithful  to  the  dead." 


FALSE,     didst    thou    say  ? — Oh,    no  ! — All    nature 

speaks 

And  bids  thee  to  recall  those  random  words ; 
Lest  in  some  trusting  heart  they  cause  a  wound 
No  earthly  balm  can  heal. 

Order,  the  great,  first,  truest  law  of  Heaven, 
Controlling  all  things  in  the  Universe, 
In  silent  language  hourly  doth  proclaim 
Its  Legislator  true,  immutable. 
And  should  not  all  that  emanate 
From  that  unchanging  source,  be  as  unchang'd — • 
As  faithful  to  their  trust  as  He  whose  word 
Gave  them  existence  here  ? 

True,  human  nature, 

Unlike  the  Divine,  more  prone  to  error  is ; 
More  wont  to  stray  from  the  appointed  course. 

131 


132  FIDELITY. 

Yet,  He  who  formed  that  nature  knows,  full  well, 
How,  in  His  own  appointed  time  arid  way, 
It  may  accomplish  its  life-given  design. 

Oh,  let  us  then  be  faithful  unto  all ! 
Yet,  if  we  must  be  false,  let  it  not  be 
Unto  the  living — those  whose  throbbing  hearts, 
Keenly  alive  to  ev'ry  painful  wound 
The  poison'd  arrows  of  neglect  produce, 
Shrink  from  their  aim,  as  does  th'  sensitive  plant 
From  the  rude  touch  of  mortals !     No  !  rather  let 
The  unconscious  dead  be  victims  unto 
Our  inconstancy.     Yet  they  a  claim  possess — 
A  sacred  claim  on  our  fidelity. 
And,  from  their  earthy  graves,  their  silent 
Tongues,  bound  in  death's  icy  fetters,  seem 
To  speak;,  and  hourly  bid  us  to  be  false 
To  none. 

Then  strive,  oh,  mortal  man, 
In  all  thy  actions  with  thy  fellows  here, 
One  virtue  more  to  add  unto  the  list 
By  Holy  Writ  prescribed;  and  let  that 
Yirtue  be — Fidelity. 


COME.  UP    HIGHER. 


BRIGHT  Sol's  last  rays  had  kissed  the  earth, 

The  twilight  hours  drew  near ; 
And  gentle  Luna's  pearly  rays 

Illumed  our  nether  sphere. 
The  flowers  had  closed  their  petals  fair, 

Gemm'd  by  the  dew-drops  bright ; 
While  ling'ring  day-beams  yielded  to 

The  sombre  shades  of  night. 
The  stars  in  beauty  shone  above  ; 

All  nature  did  conspire 
To  fill  the  grateful  soul  with  love 

And  bid  it  come  up  higher. 

Beside  a  couch  a  mother  sat, 

In  agony  of  grief; 
No  lovely  scene  without  could  give 

Her  burden'd  heart  relief. 

12  133 


134  COME   UP    HIGHER. 

For  near  her  lay  a  suff'ring  child, 

Her  only  joy  and  pride, 
Sinking  beneath  the  stormy  waves 

Of  Jordan's  swelling  tide. 
"  Mamma,"  it  said,  "  I  dreamed,  just  now, 

Of  God's  seraphic  choir  ;• 
They  spread  their  snowy,  glitt'ring  wings, 

And  bade  me  come  up  higher  1" 

The  voice  is  hushed ;  the  quick  pulse  stilled ; 

The  life-blood  ceased  to  flow  ; 
The  fring'd  lids  are  closed  for  aye 

On  objects  here  below. 
Death's  damps  are  'mid  those  clust'ring  curls ; 

That  cherub  form  is  still ; 
Those  rounded  limbs  no  longer  move 

At  childhood's  earnest  will. 
A  form  lies  there  in  Death's  embrace, 

That  angels  might  admire  ; 
A  soul  has  yielded  to  the  call — • 

"  Pure  spirit,  come  up  higher  !" 

"  Daughter,"  a  skeptic  father  said, 

"  Cast  that  dull  book  aside  ! 
Believe  me  it  was  ne'er  designed 

Our  path  through  life  to  guide." 


COME   UP   HIGHER.  135 

"  Papa,  I  cannot  it  renounce, 

While  an  immortal  soul 
Thus  struggles  'mid  its  foes  to  reach 

Its  God-appointed  goal. 
I  love  the  holy  prophet's  zeal 

Waked  by  the  Psalmist's  lyre  ; 
They  call  forth  all  that's  pure  and  good, 

And  bid  me  come  up  higher  I" 

"  How  know  you  an  immortal  soul 

Thus  struggles  with  its  foes ; 
And  longs  to  reach  a  destined  goal 

Exempt  from  earthly  woes  ?" 
"  A  something  tells  me  it,  papa, 

I  feel  it  glow  within, 
It  fain  would  burst  its  prison  bars, 

And  flee  this  world  of  sin. 
In  dark  temptation's  hour  it  glows, 

With  ardent,  pure  desire ; 
It  loathes  its  tenement  of  clay, 

And  longs  to  soar  up  higher." 

A  youth,  upon  whose  brow  was  stamped 

Th'  impress  of  a  soul 
Awake  to  noble  acts  and  deeds, 

Once  sought  the  pois'nous  bowl. 


136  COME    UP    HIGHER. 

For  Fortune  with  a  threat'ning  frown 

His  path  in  life  beset ; 
While  dire  Temptation  lured  him  on 

To  drink—"  drink  and  forget !" 
He  sought  the  bowl,  but  turned  aside  ; 

He  quench'd  the  mad  desire ; 
For  conscience'  "  still,  small  voice,"  he  heard- 

It  whispered — "  Come  up  higher  !" 

Thus,  when  temptation's  syren  voice 

Would  'lure  the  soul  astray, 
And  bid  us  seek  true  happiness 

In  sin's  dark,  thorny  way ; 
When  sorrow's  cup  'tis  ours  to  drain, 

When  friends  and  fortune  flee ; 
When  th'  o'erburdened,  care-worn  heart, 

Sinks  in  despondency ; 
Faith  points  to  th'  unnumber'd  host 

Of  Heaven's  angel  choir; 
While  hope  smiles  in  the  fainting  soul, 

And  bids  it  "  come  up  higher  !" 

Comrades  in  truth's  celestial  cause, 

Let  this  our  motto  be  I 
Let  us  press  onward  to  attain 

Our  highest  destiny  ! 


COME    UP    HIGHER.  137 

Justice  and  Eight  now  lead  us  on, 

While  Duty  points  the  way, 
Through  sunlight  diram'd  by  ebon  clouds, 

Unto  a  brighter  day. 
Life,  health,  and  vigor  now  are  ours, 

While  all  around  conspire 
To  urge  us  on  to  victory, 

And  bid  us  come  up  higher. 

Then  let  no  grov'ling  thoughts  be  ours ! 

Let  virtue  be  our  aim  ! 
Let  all  that's  noble,  just,  and  true, 

Our  fixed  attention  claim  ! 
Where  Duty  calls,  press  bravely  on  ! 

Nor  ever  disobey  ! 
But,  with  determined,  earnest  zeal, 

Pursue  our  destined  way. 
And,  when  Death  frees  the  fettered  soul, 

May  the  angelic  choir 
Smile  sweetly  on  us  from  above, 

And  whisper — "  Corne  up  higher  P 

12* 


EIPPLES   IN  THE    GRAIN. 


THE  summer   sun,  declining,    his  beams  is  darting 

free  ; 
In  gorgeous  splendor  shining  o'er  woodland,  stream, 

and  lea  ; 

A  moment  still,  he  lingers  at  the  portals  of  th'  West, 
And  then,  with  rosy  fingers,  folds  its  drap'ry  o'er  his 

breast ; 
His  luster,  still   adorning   the  clouds  which   hover 

there, 
Casts  rays  like  early  morning,  athwart  a  landscape 

fair  ; 
And,  as   he  sinks   to  slumber,   the   ev'ning  zephyr 

train 
Awakes,    in    countless  number,  the   ripples  in    the 

grain. 

138 


RIPPLES   IN   THE   GRAIN.  139 

A  sight  of  grace  and  beauty  those  ripples  are  to  r 

Portraying  life's  great  duty  on  thought's  tumulti 
sea; 

They  tell  of  pure  emotions  within  the  human  breast, 

When  th'  hour  of  calm  devotion  hath  still'd  the  soul's 
unrest ; 

Foretell,  in  language  truthful,  the  joyous  harvest- 
time, 

When  sturdy  yeomen  youthful,  with  song,  and  jest, 
and  rhyme, 

Come  forth  in  gleeful  numbers,  a  merry  reaper 
train, 

T'  break  th'  restless  slumbers  of  th'  ripples  in  the 
grain. 

Great  Father,  'mid  thy  blessings,  oh,  teach  us  all  to 
know 

The  all-important  lesson — from  whence  those  bles- 
sings flow ; 

From  earth's  enchanting  beauties,  oh,  may  we  ev'ry 
day, 

Learn  something  of  earth's  duties  upon  our  destined 
way; 

And,  as  each  harvest  greets  us,  may  it  the  truth 
renew — • 


140  RIPPLES   IN    THE    GRAIN. 

That  Thy  great  harvest  waits  us,  and  laborers  are 

few  ! 

While,  flits  each  pure  emotion  in  an  angelic  train, 
Through  thought's  tumultuous  ocean,  like  ripples  in 

the  grain. 


GONE   BEFOKB. 

"Part  of  the  host  have  crossed  the  flood, 
And  part  are  crossing  now." 


YES,  part  have  crossed  the  flood,  and  safely  stand 
Triumphant  on  the  starry  shore  of  heaven  ; 

Within  the  confines  of  that  blissful  land, 
From  Pisgah's  top  to  Moses'  vision  given. 

Methinks  I  see  them  now — the  young,  the  gay — 
Manhood,  with  buoyant  tread,  and  woman's  form ; 

And  aged  veterans,  whose  locks  of  gray 

Wave  in  the  winds  of  Death's  portentous  storm. 

I  see  them  as  I  saw  them  e'er  they  crossed 

The  threat'nirig  waves  of  Jordan's  swelling  tide ; 

And  mingled  with  that  pure  unnumber'd  host, 
By  th?  inspired  Evangelist  descried. 
141 


142  GONE    BEFORE. 

Long  years  have  passed  since,  by  "  the  boatman  pale," 
Some  of  these  voyagers  were  borne  away  ; 

While  others,  ere  this  Spring's  reviving  gale 

Had  fanned  their  brows,  left  earthly  scenes  for  aye. 

One,  frank,  and  free  from  all  deceptive  arts, 

And  blithe  and  gay  as  lark  from  woodland  flown, 

Left  us,  when  the  fond  tendrils  of  our  hearts 
Were  clasping  close  and  closer  to  her  own. 

In  vain  a  parent's,  brother's,  sister's,  love 
Bade  her  remain  and  share  terrestrial  bliss; 

Her  spirit,  lured  to  brighter  worlds  above, 
Burst  from  the  bonds  that  fettered  it  to  this. 

Friends,  sympathizing  friends,  with  tearful  eyes, 
Gazed  on  the  scene,  disheartened  and  appalled  ; 

But,  all  unheeding,  Jordan's  waves  arise — 
She  could  not  linger  when  her  Saviour  called. 

Another  one,  in  early  womanhood, 

'Mid  all  the  cares  of  mother  and  of  wife, 

Whose  soul  bore  impress  of  the  true  and  good, 
Ent'ring  Death's  barque,  forsook  the  shore  of  life. 


GONE    BEFORE.  143 

An  infant's  wail,  a  prattling  child's  caress, 

The  sobs  of  weeping  friends  assembled  'round, 

A  loving  husband's  look  of  tenderness — 

Nought,  nought  could  stay  that  spirit  "  homeward 
bound." 

These  were  the  last  on  which  my  sorrowing  eyes 
Gazed,  as  they  neared  the  port  of  endless  rest — 

Mourning,  yet  joying  that,  in  Paradise, 
"  Th'  early  called  are  ever  early  blessed." 

"  And  some  are  crossing  now  " — upon  that  stream, 
That  cold,  resistless,  overwhelming  tide, 

'Mid  winter's  cold  or  summer  sun's  bright  beam, 
The  "  boatman  pale  "  his  barque  doth  ever  guide. 

We  near  the  margin,  too.     Thou  Crucified, 

Oh  !  grant,  that  when  for  us  that  barque  is  steer'd  j 

"We'll  safely  anchor  on  the  other  side, 

Though   life-winds   oft   its   destined   course  have 
veer'd  ! 

May-day,  1860 


CHARITY. 

"  You  look  very  happy  1"  said  Hilda  to  a  penitent,  who  had 
just  received  the  benediction  of  the  priest.  "  Is  it  then  so  sweet 
to  go  to  the  confessional?" 

"  Oh,  very  sweet,  my  dear  signorina !"  answered  the  woman. 
"  My  heart  is  at  rest,  now.  Thanks  be  to  the  Saviour,  and  the 
blessed  Virgin,  and  the  saints,  and  this  good  father,  there  is  no 
more  trouble  for  poor  Theresa  !"  Hawthorne's  Marble  Faun. 


PKOTESTANT  brother — thou  who  wouldst  condemn 
Each  earnest  action  of  thy  fellow-men  ; 
Simply  because  such  actions,  as  thou  saith. 
Ignore  what  seems  to  thee  a  truer  faith  ; 
Oh,  pause  'mid  thy  unjust  severity, 
And  humbly  learn  a  world-wide  charity. 

For,  is  not  he  who  bows  before  his  priest, 

Feeling  that  of  all  saints  he  is  the  least, 

Who  through  the  Virgin  would  the  Son  revere, 

Because  unworthy  to  approach  more  near; 

144 


CHARITY.  145 


Say — is  not  such  as  he  closely  allied 
Unto  the  Publican  Christ  justified? 


Then  let  us  not  our  soul's  Shechinah  dim, 
By  thanking  God  that  we  are  not  like  him  ; 
But  let  us  meekly  forth  our  life-cross  bear, 
Nor  lay  it  down  until  our  crown  we  wear  ; 
Nor,  like  to  the  self  righteous  Pharisee, 
Vainly  make  broad  our  own  phylactery. 

And,  when,  in  sin's  dark  vale  thy  brother  strays, 
Like  a  lost  sheep,  from  virtue's  pleasant  ways, 
Let  not  thy  tongue,  in  cold,  unfeeling  scorn, 
Add  to  the  poignant  grief  already  borne ; 
Remembering  that  the  sinless  shall  alone 
Presume  to  cast  the  contumelious  stone. 


For  what  to  man  is  the  "  church  militant," 

But  that  which  soothes  the  lowly  penitent, 

Which  bids  all  dogmas,  creeds,  and  forms  take  flight 

'Neath  th'  effulgence  of  the  Gospel  light; 

Bears  with  our  brother's  frailties  as  our  own, 

And  aids  his  progress  towards  the  Father's  throne? 
13 


146  CHARITY. 

The  zealous  Paul  these  duties  all  foresaw, 

When  seeking  to  expound  this  righteous  law — 

Now  charity,  faith,  hope  abide,  said  he ; 

But,  greatest  of  them  all,  is  charity ; 

And  he  who  fails  that  charity  to  show, 

Bliss  in  the  "  church  triumphant,"  ne'er  may  know. 


THE  OLD   HOMESTEAD. 


THERE  is  a  spot,  a  quiet  spot,  within  a  shady  bower 
Which  holds  within  my  heart,  e'en  now,  a  sway  of 

magic  power ; 
Far  from  the  dusty  highway's  din,  it  stands  in  sweet 

repose ; 
A  grassy  by-way  leads  us  where,  long  years  ago,  it 

rose : 
And  there,  beneath  the  rural  shade,  so  prized  in  days 

of  yore, 

An  edifice  of  ancient  art  the  stranger  may  explore, 
It  tells  me  of  the  friends  beloved,  who  thronged  those 

wide  old  halls, 
And  to  my  fancy  once  again  each  cherished  scene 

recalls ; — 
'Twas  there  my  sire  my  mother  wooed ;  'twas  there 

he  told  his  love  ; 

'Twas  there  their  mutual  vows  were  pledged  and  reg- 
istered above ; 

147 


148  THE    OLD  HOMESTEAD. 

And  o'er  that  homestead's  threshold  dear,  that  gentle 
being  passed, 

To  share  the  joys  and  cares  of  him  with  whom  her 
lot  was  cast. 

There  too,  in  childish  glee,  I  trod  those  antique  oaken 
floors ; 

There,  in  the  little  yard  I  played  beside  those  mas- 
sive doors — 

Familiar  scenes,  ye  haunt  me  still ;  though  weary 
years  have  flown, 

And  death  hath  sever'd  me  from  friends  I  loved,  and 
called  my  own. 

My  honored  grandsire's  hoary  locks — methinks  I  see 
them  now; — 

That  vigorous,  athletic  form,  age  sought  in  vain  to 
bow ; 

Those  kind  and  gentle  tones  of  his,  that  firm,  un- 
yielding will ; 

Which,  while  he  mildly  chid  my  faults,  proved  that 
he  loved  me  still ; 

The  eight-day  clock,  so  old  and  quaint,  beside  the 
chimney-piece, 

Whose  warning  sounds  so  often  bade  my  evening 
pastimes  cease ; 


THE    OLD  HOMESTEAD.  149 

The  orchard  with   its  tempting  fruits  ;  the  garden, 

richly  stored ; 
The  barn,  designed  from  winter's  storms  the  golden 

grain  to  hoard ; 
The   spring-house   and   its   dairy-maids,  with   faces 

bright  and  fair, 
Its  butter  and  delicious  cream  which  'twas  my  lot  to 

share ; 
Those  scenes  I  yet  remember  well,  though  many  a 

change  hath  come, 
And  strangers  now  frequent  the  haunts  where  I  was 

wont  to  roam. 
Yes,  cherished   spot,  this   constant   heart  will   hold 

thee  still  the  same  ! — 
Old  places  have  a  charm  for  me,  the  new  can  never 

claim ; 

And  wheresoever  I  may  be,  whatever  fate  be  mine, 
I'll  cling  with  fondness  unto  those  endearing  scenes 

of  thine. 
Christ  teach   me  so  to  live,  that  when  life's  silver 

cord  is  riven, 
I  may  enjoy  with  friends  beloved,  a  homestead  sweet 

in  Heaven. 


SUMMER  FRIENDS. 

"  It  was  not  an  enemy  that  reproached  me  ;  then  I  could  have 
borne  it." — Psalms  Iv.  12. 


GAZING  from  my  western  casement, 
As  the  light  with  darkness  blends, 

Muse  I  on  the  Past  and  Present, 
Muse  I  now  on  summer  friends. 

In  the  ether,  clouds  are  lowering ; 

Darkly  o'er  my  head  they  roll ; 
Thus  are  gloomy  clouds  of  sadness 

Lowering  in  my  inmost  soul. 

Harshly  blam'd  have  been  my  actions, 

Earnest  efforts  to  do  good  ; 
While  my  purest,  best  intentions, 

Coldly  have  been  misconstrued. 
150 


SUMMER   FEIENDS.  151 

Yet,  methinks  I  might  have  borne  it, 

Had  it  been  mine  enemy, 
Who  my  life-path  thus  hath  darkened 

With  the  shades  of  contumely. 

But  it  was  my  guide,  acquaintance, 

Whom  I  valued  as  a  friend ; 
Whose  good  name  and  reputation 

Even  now  I  would  defend. 

Why,  then,  do  they  judge  thus  harshly  ? 

Why  expect  me  to  confess 
To  internal  thoughts  and  feelings 

I  would  shudder  to  possess  ? 

I  must  doubt  where  once  I  trusted  j 
Learn  to  shun  where  once  I  loved ; 

For  that  trust's  unworthy  objects 

False  to  friendship's  pledge  have  proved. 

Yet,  'tis  best :  I  know,  I  feel  it : 
E'en  amid  this  deep'ning  gloom 

Brooding  o'er  my  troubled  spirit, 
Thus  doth  consolation  come — 


152  SUMMER   FRIENDS. 

"  While  prosperity's  bright  sunlight 
Bade  all  praise  and  none  to  blame, 

Thou  beneath  its  influence  basking, 
Scarce  knew  whence  the  blessing  came, 

"But  these  adverse  gales,  now  blowing, 
Bring  to  view  thy  real  friends ; 

And  thou'lt  value  far  more  highly 
Those  blest  gifts  the  Father  sends. 

"And  they'll  draw  thee  closer,  nearer, 
To  thy  faithful  Friend  above  ; 

Bid  thee  place  thy  dearest  treasures 
In  the  regions  of  his  love." 

Father,  reigning  in  Thy  kingdom, 
Though  my  erring  fellow-men, 

My  sincerest,  purest  motives 
May  unfeelingly  condemn  ; 

Thou  who  know'st  my  spirit's  secrets, 
Who  my  thoughts  can  understand, 

I  would  claim  at  Thy  tribunal 
Truest  justice  at  Thy  hand. 


SUMMER   FRIENDS.  153 

Then,  when  life's  alluring  sunshine 

Ceases  with  its  storms  to  blend, 
May  my  soul,  o'er  death  triumphant, 

Thank  Thee  for  each  summer  friend  I 


"FAITHFUL  IS  HE  THAT  CALLETH  YOU." 

1  THESS.  v.    24. 


LITTLE  child,  with  careless  glee, 
Sporting  on  the  flowery  lea; 
Maiden  with  the  sunny  hair, 
Unto  whom  life  seems  so  fair ; 
Youth  with  buoyant  step  and  light, 
Climbing  fame's  alluring  height ; 
From  earth's  pleasures  turn  awhile  1 
Seek  the  path  that  leads  from  guile  ! 
Seek  the  Holy  and  the  True — 
"  Faithful  is  He  that  calleth  you." 

Matron,  on  whose  brow  serene, 
Care's  sad  traces  may  be  seen  ; 
Manhood,  'mid  whose  locks  of  brown, 
Threads  of  silver  have  been  strewn, 
Hoary  age,  whose  bowing  form 
Soon  will  yield  to  life's  rude  storm ; 
154 


"FAITHFUL  is  HE  THAT  CALLETH  YOU."    155 

From  earth's  trials  turn  away ! 
Seek  Eeligion's  inborn  ray  ! 
Seek  the  Holy  and  the  True — 
"  Faithful  is  He  that  calleth  you." 

Soldiers  of.  the  sacred  cross, 
Ever  counting  all  things  loss, 
For  the  knowledge  ye  have  known, 
Of  the  meek  and  lowly  One  ; 
Toilers  on  life's  battle-plain, 
Where  Truth's  champions  are  slain, 
Falter  not  when  death  shall  come  ! 
In  Christ's  kingdom  there  is  room  ; 
Seek  the  Holy  and  the  True ! — 
"  Faithful  is  He  that  calleth  you." 


THE  THREE    SOLILOQUIES. 


HEAKT,  to  me  the  truth  unfold ! — 
Heart,  with  anxious  feelings  fraught- 

Am  I  dazzled  by  his  gold  ? 
Do  I  love  or  do  I  not? 

Is  that  brightly -flashing  eye, 
Or  that  voice  of  winning  art, 

Graceful  form  or  forehead  high, 
Empire  for  a  woman's  heart? 

Harry  May  they  say  is  plain ; 

Plain,  alike  in  face  and  form  ; 
Yet  his  bosom  doth  contain 

Pure  affections,  true  and  warm. 

Truer  far  they  seem  to  me, 

Than  the  haughty  Darnley's  love; 

Yet,  I've  promised  his  to  be, 

'Neath  those  stars  that  shine  above. 
156 


THE   THKEE    SOLILOQUIES.  157 

God  forgive  me,  if  I  sin, 

For  my  friends  approve  my  choice ; 
Crush  my  fondest  hopes  within, 

Bid  me  'mid  my  woes  rejoice. 


It  is  o'er — the  word  is  said  ; — 
I  am  Horace  Darnley's  bride ; — 

My  affections  are  betrayed — 
Fetter'd  by  a  parent's  pride. 

Little  thought  that  joyous  crowd, 
Decked  in  costly  jewels  bright, 

Who,  with  aspect  coldly  proud, 
Throng'd  around  me  yesternight ; 

How  that  fragile  bridal  wreath 
Pressed  upon  my  throbbing  brow, 

As  I  vow'd  to  love,  till  death, 
One  I  love  not,  even  now. 

How,  as  like  a  statue  cold, 

I  beheld  the  guests  depart ; 
That  each  snowy  satin  fold 


Trembled  o'er  an  aching  heart. 


14 


158  THE   THREE    SOLILOQUIES. 

But,  'tis  done — the  die  is  cast — • 
I  must  try  to  love  him  now ; — 

Buried  in  the  hidden  Past 
Is  each  falsely  utter'd  vow. 


Years  have  passed — three  weary  years, 
Since  my  childhood's  home  I  left ; — 

Tears  I've  shed- — aye,  bitter  tears, 
Of  its  peaceful  joys  bereft. 

Costly  equipage  is  mine  ; 

Servants  wait  in  livery  ; 
I,  in  silks  and  jewels  shine, 

Doom'd  to  splendid  misery. 

Worldlings  gaze  with  envious  eyes, 
And  esteem  my  station  blest ; 

Fancy  I  have  won  a  prize, 
In  the  wealth  by  me  possess'd. 

Would  they  had  my  paltry  gold  ; — 

Would  they  had  my  princely  home- 
Father  !  from  Thy  peaceful  fold 
Let  thy  lambkin  cease  to  roam  ! 


THE   THEEE   SOLILOQUIES.  159 

All  my  happiness  while  here, 

Sacrificed  at  mammon's  shrine ; 
Own  me  in  a  brighter  sphere  ! 

Bless  me  by  Thy  love  divine  1 


"GOD  TEMPEES  THE  WIND  TO  THE 
SHORN  LAMB." 


STRANGER,  whom  Fate  decrees  to  roam, 
Far  from  thy  native  land  and  home  ; 
Whose  yearning  soul  ne'er  sweetly  blends 
In  social  intercourse  with  friends  ; 
When  thy  sad  breast's  internal  pulse 
Is  quick'ning  'neath  each  rude  repulse ; 
Approach  the  throne  of  the  great  I  Am  ! 
He  "  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb." 

Mother,  whose  throbbing  bosom  yearns 
For  that  wayward  son  who  no  more  returns  ; 
Who,  'mid  ardent  hopes  and  anxious  fears, 
Patiently  watch'd  o'er  his  infant  years ; 
Who,  with  tearful  eyes  and  aching  heart, 
Saw  him  from  th'  threshold  of  home  depart ; 
Approach  the  throne  of  the  great  I  Am  ! 
He  "  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb." 

1GO 


GOD  TEMPERS  THE  WIND  TO  THE  SHORN  LAMB.  161 

Orphan,  with  tearful,  downcast  eye, 

Whose  soul  is  yearning  for  sympathy; 

When  th'  heartless  world  with  threat'ning  frown 

Doth  weigh  thy  spirit  with  anguish  down  ; 

When  thou  art  weary,  sad,  and  lone, 

Craving  the  love  thou  once  hast  known  ; — 

Approach  the  throne  of  the  great  I  Am ! 

He  "tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb." 

Mourner  o'er  that  departed  worth, 
Whose  casket,  within  the  silent  earth, 
Lies  buried  'neath  the  valley's  clod, 
While  its  priceless  jewel  is  flown  to  God ! 
Look  through  thy  tears  with  an  eye  of  faith ! 
Lo  !  ransomed  saints  to  thy  spirit  saith — • 
"  Approach  the  throne  of  the  great  I  Am ! 
He  'tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb ' " 

Ay,  every  weary,  way-worn  soul, 
Trembling  and  faint  ere  you  reach  your  goal, 
Though  winds  may  toss  your  frail  life-barque, 
And  bear  you  afar  from  Safety's  ark ; 
Still,  as  of  old,  your  Saviour's  nigh, 
Whisp'ring  softly—"  Fear  not,  'tis  I !" 
Approach  the  throne  of  the  great  I  arn! 

lie  "  tempers  the  wind  to  the  shorn  lamb." 
14* 


UNDER-CURRENTS. 

FONDLY  INSCRIBED    TO    MY    FRIEND,    "  KATHLEEN." 


KATHLEEN,  my  friend,  dost  thbu  remember  when 

Once  we  together  rode  through  Buckingham  ? 
Pass'd  one  by  one  the  neat  abodes  of  men, 

In  rural  ease  reposing,  still  and  calm  ? 
A  tempest  was  before  us — not  a  storm  : 

Ah,  no  !  for  wintry  winds  blew  soft  that  day  ; — • 
But  one  of  Equus*  race,  whose  noble  form 

Envelop'd  in  his  coat  of  dapple-gray, 
Safely  toward  Doylestown  bore  us  on  our  way. 

Incessantly  we  chatted ;  women  do 
On  all  occasions — so,  presuming,  say 

"  Creation's  lords ;"  and  whether  false  or  true, 
For  once,  at  least,  we'll  let  them  have  their  way. 

Now  gay,  now  serious,  conversation's  tide 

Flow'd  forth  unchecked  as  moments  glided  on ; 

We  spoke  of  friends  in  girlhood's,  manhood's  pride, 

162 


UNBER-CURRENTS.         »  163 

Whose  brief  heart  histories  we  each  had  known, 
And  from  whose  bosoms  much  of  life's  best  hopes 
had  flown. 

And  then,  in  thy  own,  unassuming  style, 

This  language  thou  to  me  addressed,  Kathleen  : — 
"  I  sometimes  think  that  many,  all  the  while 

Cold,  unimpassion'd  they  to  others  seem, 
Conceal  an  under-current  in  their  breast, 

Known  but  to  him  who  formed  the  "human  heart ; 
A  current  causing  oft  that  heart's  unrest, 

As  calmly,  patiently  they  bear  their  part 
In  this  world's  unrelenting,  cold,  and  selfish  mart." 

So  true  thy  language  seemed,  it  made  vibrate 

Each  hidden  cord  within  my  inmost  soul ; 
And  many  times  I've  thought — how  pure,  how  great 

The  joy  of  those  must  be,  who  reach  life's  goal 
Free  of  such  currents.     Then  again  I  pause ; 

Knowing  that  He,  the  author  of  our  life, 
Kindly  directs  by  His  unvarying  laws 

These  inner  streams  with  restless  waters  rife, 
To  find  their  source  in  Him  the  one  great  Fount  of 
life. 


164  UXDEK-CUKEENTS. 

Proud  Science  in  tli'  outer  world  doth,  give 

Keasons  for  under-currents  of  the  sea  ; 
But  for  the  spirit's  surgings  we'd  receive 

A  more  profound  and  pure  philosophy. 
For  who  can  tell  the  deep,  internal  woe 

Of  souls  who  bear  these  under-currents  forth  ? 
Who  but  th'  omniscient  One  may  ever  know 

Their  secret  longings,  'mid  the  scenes  of  earth, 
For  something  formed  of  more  enduring  worth  ? 

Mayst  thou,  my  friend,  if  thy  young  life  has  e'er 
Been  fraught  with  deep  emotions  such  as  these ; 

The  anchor  place  of  thy  aspirings,  where 

No  storm  shall  scathe  it — where  no  gentler  breeze 

May  sway  its  cable ;  and  mayst  thou  e'er  know- 
Acting  thy  part  in  earth's  mysterious  scene — 

Hearts  as  impressible  of  others'  woe, 

Friends  true  to  thee  as  thou  to  thine  hast  been  ! 

May  Heaven  bless  thy  lot,  as  now,  for  aye,  Kathleen! 


IMPROMPTU  TO  WATER. 


DAME  Nature  fair 
Hath  beauties  rare 

To  charm  each  son  and  daughter ; 
Bat  nought  that  she  shows 
With  more  beauty  glows 

Than  the  pare  and  limpid  water. 
Like  diamonds  bright, 
In  the  warm  sunlight, 

It  sparkles  in  stream  and  river; 
In  seeming  glee 
It  gurgles  free — 

This  gift  of  the  boanteous  Giver. 

In  waves  it  rolls 
Toward  th'  icy  polls, 

'Mid  the  depths  of  the  surging  ocean  ; 
Or,  reckless  falls 
O'er  some  rugged  walls, 

Kent  by  the  earth's  commotion. 
165 


166  IMPKOMPTU   TO   WATER. 

It  dances  along, 

To  th'  mermaid  s  song 

Of  joy,  joy  now  arid  ever  ; 
Ne'er  its  beauty  dies 
'Neath  th'  wintry    skies; 

For  its  charms  it  retains  forever. 

The  flowers  meet  death, 
When  th'  blighting  breath 

Of  the  frost-king  breathes  upon  them  ; 
And  the  trees  and  grass, 
As  they  mark  him  pass, 

Seek  their  sombre  robes  to  don  them. 
But  the  water,  though 
It  may  cease  to  How, 

In  its  laughing  summer  beauty, 
Hath  never  yet 
Seem'd  to  quite  forget 

That  its  is  a  joyous  duty. 

In  snowy  flakes 

From  the  clouds  it  breaks, 

When  icy  chains  have  bound  it; 
And  gracefully  falls 
From  its  lofty  halls 

To  enliven  the  gloom  around  it. 


IMPROMPTU    TO    WATER.  167 

Then,  in  stainless  drifts, 
Its  form  it  lifts 

As  the  sleigh-bells  merry  tingle, 
With  loaded  sleighs 
And  charger's  neighs, 

Pass  bj  with  varied  jingle. 

When  each  stream,  frost-bound, 
Shows  to  all  around 

The  skill  of  the  wise  Creator, 
Their  surfaces  yield 
An  ample  field 

For  the  feet  of  the  joyful  skater. 
Thus  the  water  bright, 
Like  a  fairy  sprite 

In  its  varied  forms  of  beauty, 
Hath  never  yet 
Seem'd  to  quite  forget 

That  its  is  a  joyous  duty. 

I  value  them  all, 
Both  great  and  small — 

These  gifts  of  the  bounteous  Giver ; 
Yet,  for  me,  I  confess, 
None  such  charms  possess 

As  this  spirit  of  sea  and  river. 


168  IMPROMPTU    TO    WATER. 

Ay,  Nature  fair 
Hath  beauties  rare 

To  charm  each  son  and  daughter; 
But  nought  she  shows 
With  more  beauty  glows, 

Than  the  pure  and  limpid  water. 


TO    THE   SCHUYLKILL   RIVER. 


SWEET  Schuylkill,  my  own  native  stream, 

To  thee  my  strains  belong  ; 
Be  thou  my  humble  muse's  theme — • 

The  subject  of  my  song. 

Though  bards  have  seldom  sung  of  thee 

In  measure  or  in  rhyme; 
Thou'lt  hold,  within  rny  memory, 

A  place  throughout  all  time. 

Thou  canst  not  boast  fair  Hudson's  scenes, 
Nor  Delaware's  broad  waves; 

Nor  wouldst  thou  admiration  win 
Where  Susquehanna  laves. 

But,  though  beside  thy  sister  streams, 

Thou  humble  dost  appear; 
Thy  name  will  ever  be  to  me 

Most  sacred  and  most  dear. 
15  169 


170  TO    THE    SCIIUYLKILL    KIVER. 

For,  'twas  upon  thy  verdant  shore 

My  infant  footsteps  trod  ; 
'Twas  there  I  learn'd  to  know  and  love 

The  beauteous  works  of  God. 

In  later  years  I've  gazed  upon 
Thy  placid  waves  so  bright ; 

Or  mark'd  them  when  stern  winter's  frosts 
Enchain'd  them  from  the  sight. 

Or,  when  the  angry  storms  have  made 

Thy  turbid  waters  rise, 
I've  silently  admired  the  Power 

That  rules  thee  from  the  skies. 

And  now  my  thoughts  revert  to  thee, 

As  far  from  thee  I  roam  ; 
And  mark,  beside  thy  waves  so  free, 

That  sacred  spot — my  home. 

That  home,  where,  a  short  time  ago, 

I  fondly  bade  adieu 
Unto  my  earliest  bosom  friends, 

The  dearest  and  most  true. 


TO   THE    SCHUYLKILL    RIVER.  171 

There,  too,  within  death's  cold  embrace, 

Where  beauteous  flowrets  bloom, 
Those  whom  I  early  loved  and  lost, 

.Sleep  in  the  silent  tomb. 

Then  'tis  not  strange  that  thou  to  me 

Shouldst  ever  seem  most  dear ; 
Or  that  my  humble  pen  presumes 

To  trace  thy  praises  here. 

For,  should  I  roam  o'er  all  the  earth, 

I  ne'er  will  find,  I  ween, 
A  fairer,  sweeter  spot  to  me, 

Than  thou,  my  native  stream. 


PEACTISE  WHAT   YOU  PREACH 

OR,  EXAMPLE   BETTER   THAN    PRECEPT. 


TELL  rne  not  of  garbled  sermon, 

Elegance  of  thought  and  style  ; 
Heard  from  out  our  modern  pulpits 

Man  from  error  to  beguile. 
Eloquence  may  charm  the  fancy, 

Summon  an  admiring  crowd, 
Who  surround  the  gifted  preacher 

With  their  praises,  long  and  loud  ; 
But  if  God's  appointed  servants 

Would  their  hearer's  conscience  reach, 
Leading  them  in  paths  of  wisdom — 

They  must  practise  what  they  preach. 

Parents,  if  your  tender  offspring 
Ye  would  lead  in  ways  of  truth, 

Shielding  them  from  the  temptations 
That  surround  the  path  of  youth  ; 
.  172 


PEACTISE   WHAT   YOU    PREACH.  173 

Count  as  vain  your  tirne-worn  maxims, 

And,  to  make  your  teaching  sure, 
Guide  them — not  alone  by  precept, 

But  example,  just  and  pure, 
For,  to  shelter  from  the  tempests 

Sin's  dark  clouds  would  cast  'round  each 
Tender  flower  of  your  protection, 

You  must  practise  what  you  preach. 

Teachers,  if  throughout  your  duties, 

Ever  faithful  you  would  be, 
Not  by  words,  but  by  your  actions, 

Teach  in  all  sinceritj''. 
Youthful  eyes  are  on  you  gazing, 

Youthful  hearts  your  thoughts  receive; 
Eagerly  they  catch  your  accents, 

Eagerly  your  words  believe  ; — 
Then  beware  !  lest  by  those  actions, 

Untrue  principles  you  teach ; 
And  forget  not  you  must  ever 

Strive  to  practise  what  you  preach. 

Ye  who  would  redeem  a  brother 

Through  a  Saviour's  pard'ning  love, 
Know  that  by  your  bright  example 

You  must  'lure  to  joys  above  I 
15* 


174-  PRACTISE    WHAT   YOU     PREACH. 

Better  were  the  world,  and  wiser, 

Full  of  goodness  and  of  truth, 
If,  throughout  each  generation, 

Hoary  age  and  buoyant  youth, 
All  who  preach  the  glorious  gospel, 

All  who  govern,  all  who  teach, 
"Would  but  learn  this  useful  lesson — 

Always  practise  what  you  preach. 


OMNISCIENCE. 

"  London  makes  mirth  ;  but  I  know  God  hears 
The  sighs  i'  th'  dark,  and  the  dropping  of  tears.' 

Gerald  Massey. 


How  bless'd  the  thought,  that  on  this  nether  sphere, 
That  God  who  marks  the  tiny  sparrow's  fall, 

Who  gave  existence  unto  all  things  here, 
His  guardian  care  extendeth  over  all. 

How  bless'd  for  those  astray  from  virtue's  path, 
Pierc'd  by  the  pois'nous  arrows  vice  hath  hurl'd, 

And    trembling   'neath   high    Heaven's    impending 

wrath, 
Now  mourn  within  the  Londons  of  our  world, 

How  bless'd  for  those  who  their  good  Father's  home 
Have  left,  temptation's  labyrinth  to  try ; 

As  wand'rers  and  as  outcasts  doomed  to  roam — . 
"Weary  of  life,  and  yet  afraid  to  die, 
175 


176  OMNISCIENCE. 

To  know  when  keenest  anguish  rends  the  heart, 
And  untold  grief  finds  vent  alone  in  tears; 

That  e'en  amid  th'  earth's  remotest  mart, 
The  omnipresent  One  both  sees  and  hears! 

That  One,  who,  veil'd  in  mortal  flesh  below, 

The  weakness  of  that  flesh  Himself  hath  proved  ; 

Meekly  consenting  that  His  blood  should  flow, 
To  seal  the  pardon  of  the  race  He  loved. 

Earth's  weary  ones,  behold  your  Sov'reign  God  ! 

He  reigns  above  in  grace  and  mercy  free ; 
In  kindness  doth  He  wield  the  chastening  rod, 

Whispering — "  Ye  heavy-laden,  come  to  rne  !" 

"What  though  your  erring  fellow-man,  in  scorn, 
Should  pass  you  by  upon  the  other  side  ? — 

Salvation  points  to  that  triumphant  morn — 
The  resurrection  of  the  Crucified. 


KANDOM   THOUGHTS. 

FOR   THE    NEW   YEAR    OF    1860. 


LIGHTLY  fall  the  crystal  snow-flakes 

Over  all  the  restless  earth, 
Like  the  down  from  angels'  pinions, 
Corne  they  from  those  bright  dominions. 
Where,  upon  their  ether  pinions, 

Sail  the  clouds  that  gave  them  birth  ; 
And  they  bear,  amid  their  brightness, 
Purity  and  virgin  whiteness, 

Harbingers  of  winter's  mirth. 

Many  eyes  are  on  them  gazing, 

As  they  softly  fall  around  ; 
Many  hearts  are  beating  gladly, 
Many  pulses  bounding  madly, 
Many,  too,  are  throbbing  sadly, 
177 


178  RANDOM   THOUGHTS. 

"While  hot  tears  bedew  the  ground ; 
For,  for  some,  bright  rays  of  gladness, 
And  for  others,  clouds  of  sadness, 

'Mid  those  shining  flakes  are  found. 


Yotaries  of  wealth  and  fashion, 

As  they  mark  those  flakelets  fall, 
View  them  as  some  priceless  treasure, 
For  they  seem  to  them  a  measure, 
Meting  out  its  share  of  pleasure — 

Joy  and  pleasure  unto  all. 
While  the  poor,  upon  them  gazing, 
And  to  Heav'n  their  eyes  upraising, 
See  them  as  a  funeral  pall. 

For,  to  them,  their  silent  language 
Tells  of  sternest  want  and  woe  ; 
Tells  of  cold  and  hunger  pressing, 
Tells  of  griefs,  e'en  more  distressing, 
Tells  of  anguish  most  oppressing, 
Known  but  to  the  poor  below ; 
And  to  Him  who  careth  for  them, 
Him  whose  love  e'er  watches  o'er  them, 
As  they  on  their  life-path  go. 


KANDOM   THOUGHTS.  179 

Thou  who  rulest  storm  and  tempest, 
Life's  dark  conflicts  and  its  cheer, 

E'er  above  the  storm-cloud  riding, 

And  for  us  with  care  providing, 

To  us,  in  Thy  love  abiding, 
Sanctify  each  hope  and  fear  ; 

Till,  enrob'd  in  snowy  whiteness, 

Our  freed  souls,  in  realms  of  brightness, 
Enter  on  a  glad  New  Year. 


THE    INEBKIATE'S   WIFE. 

A    PARODY. 


STAY,  husband — stay,  and  hear  my  woe  ! 

It  is  thy  wife  who  kneels  to  thee:— 
What  thou  art  now,  too  well  I  know  ; 

And  what  thou  wast,  and  what  shouldst  be. 
To  harshly  chide  I  would  forbear — 

My  language  shall  be  mild  though  sad  : 
Yet  such  neglect,  from  one  so  dear, 

Will  drive  me  mad — will  drive  me  mad! 

King  Alcohol  hath  chained  thy  soul — 

Hath  bound  it  with  resistless  spell ! 
Dark  is  thy  doom — thy  destined  goal ! 

Oh,  haste !  That  threatening  fate  dispel ! 
Oh,  haste,  my  breaking  heart  to  cheer  ! 

That  breaking  heart  'twill  surely  glad, 
To  know  thou  wilt  no  longer,  here, 

Pursue  a  course  so  basely  mad. 
180 


181 


He  smiles  in  scorn  and  turns  from  me — 

Our  hovel  quits — I  knelt  in  vain  ! 
Hope's  glimmering  ray  no  more  I  see. 

"Pis  gone — and  all  is  gloom  again. 
Cold,  bitter  cold  ! — ISTo  warmth,  no  light ! 

Life,  all  thy  comforts  once  I  had  ; 
Yet,  here  I'm  left  this  freezing  night, 

By  suffering  driven  almost  mad. 

"Pis  sure  some  dream — some  vision  vain — 

What !  I,  the  child  of  rank  and  wealth, 
Am  I  the  wretch  endures  this  pain, 

'KeFt  of  affection,  friends,  and  health  ? 
Ah  !  while  I  dwell  on  blessings  fled, 

Which  nevermore  my  heart  shall  glad, 
How  aches  my  heart,  how  burns  my  head — 

Such  agony  will  drive  me  mad ! 

Hast  thou,  my  child,  forgot  e'er  this, 
A  father's  face — a  father's  tongue  ? 

He  has  forgot  your  last  fond  kiss, 

Or  'round  his  neck  how  fast  you  clung ; 

Or  how  you  sued  for  him  to  stay — 
How  sternly  he  that  suit  forbade: 

Or  how — I'll  drive  such  thoughts  away — • 

They'll  make  me  mad — they'll  make  me  mad 
16 


182  THE   INEBRIATE'S  WIFE. 

His  rosy  lips  once  sweetly  smiled — - 

His  mild  blue  eyes  once  brightly  shone  ; — 
None  ever  bore  a  lovelier  child — 

But  ah!  that  loveliness  has  flown! 
Flown — and  I'll  ne'er  behold  it  more 

'Mid  earthly  scenes,  my  darling  lad — • 
Thank  God,  thy  suff 'rings  now  are  o'er, 

Else  they  had  surely  drove  me  mad. 

Oh,  hark  !     What  mean  those  yells  and  cries  ? 

He  home  returns — the  morning  breaks — 
He  comes — I  see  his  demon  eyes — 

Now,  now  my  inmost  spirit  quakes  ! 
Help  !  help  !     He  raves  !     O  fearful  woe  ! 

Such  oaths  to  hear — such  blasphemy  ! 
My  breath — my  breath — -I  know — I  know— 

From — anguish — soon — I  shall — be  free  ! 

Yes,  soon  !   For,  lo  you  !  while  I  speak, 

Seraphic  strains  I  seem  to  hear — 
Angelic  hosts — your  courts  I  seek  ;— 

Joy — joy — the  Father's  throne  I  near  ! 
Yet,  unto  Him  one  last  fond  prayer 

I'd  breathe  in  heartfelt  tones,  though  sad — 
Him  whom  I  love,  Oh,  spare — Oh,  spare— 

Kedeern — him — from — a  course — so  mad  ! 


MY   OTHEK   SELF. 


SOMETIMES,  methinks,  I'm  of  two  selves  composed — 

The  outer  and  the  inner : 
The  inner  prompts  to  high  and  noble  deeds ; 
The  outer  acts ;  but  ill,  at  best,  succeeds, 

And  seldom  proves  the  winner ; 
Seldom  attains  that  higher  grade, 
By  worthier  inner  life  portrayed  ; 
And  in  life's  general  masquerade 

Seems  always  a  beginner. 

Could  but  the  promptings  of  that  inner  self 

Be  shown  in  pristine  beauty, 

Such  words — such  works  'twould  to  the  world  reveal, 
As  would  in  shadows  of  eclipse  conceal 

All  past  attempts  at  duty  ; 
183 


184  MY    OTHER   SELF. 

Would  charm  the  sight  and  inner  sense, 
With  an  acme  of  excellence 
Known  only  to  Omnipotence, 
In  scenes  of  dazzling  beauty. 

And  thus  each  day  and  hour  I  still  endure 

This  constant  war  internal — • 
The  inner  striving  with  the  outer  life, 
And  ne'er  attaining,  'mid  its  earnest  strife, 

Yict'ry  o'er  th'  external. 
Seldom,  despite  each  prayer  and  tear, 
Seeming  to  realize,  while  here, 
A  foretaste  of  that  hallow'd  sphere 

Of  purest  bliss  eternal. 

When  one  who  heard  unlawful  words  for  man, 

Attained  to  the  third  heaven, 
Lest  too  secure  might  grow  his  hope  of  bliss 
In  worlds  to  come,  a  "thorn  of  flesh,"  in  this, 

To  him  was  wisely  given  ; 
And  when  he  prayed  it  might  removed  be, 
The  answer  came — "  Sufficient  unto  thee 
My  grace  both  now  and  evermore  shall  be, 

Till  Life's  frail  cord  is  riven !" 


MY    OTHER   SELF.  185 

Then  shun  thou  not,  aspiring  inner  self, 

This  war  of  flesh  with  spirit ! 
God's  sov'reign  grace  to  all  sufficient  proves  ; 
In  mercy  ever  chastening  whom  He  loves  ; 

The  measure  of  th y  merit 
Shall  not  escape  His  righteous  view  ; 
And  if  thou  faithful  prove,  and  true, 
Ever  thy  own  appointed  due 

Thou  shalt  inherit. 
16* 


OUE    FATHER. 

"  The  world  has  been  thousands  of  years,  and  not  yet  learned 
the  first  two  words  of  the  Lord's  prayer ;  and  not  until  all  tribes 
and  nations  have  learned  these,  will  His  kingdom  come,  and  His 
will  be  done  on  earth,  as  it  is  in  heaven." — H.  B.  Stowe. 


"  OUR  Father  !"  Name  by  childhood  breathed 

Around  the  homestead  hearth ! 
The  guardian  kind,  whose  care  defends 

That  sacred  spot  of  earth. 

"Our  Father!"     Thus  the  Saviour  prayed  1 

Thus  He  taught  us  to  pray, 
When  asking  of  our  heavenly  Guide 

Our  "  daily  bread  each  day." 

"  Our  Father !"     Words  unheeded  oft ! 

Yet,  did  we  own  their  power, 
'Twould  keep  the  soul's  dread  foes  at  bay 

In  dark    temptation's  hour. 
186 


OUR   FATHER.  187 

"  Our  Father  !"     Teach  us  thus  to  pray, 

When  angry  passions  burn 
Within  our  hearts,  for  injuries 

They'd  prompt  us  to  return  ! 

"Our  Father  I"     Let  us  not  forget 

How  strong  that  sacred  tie, 
When  a  neglected  brother  claims 

Our  active  sympathy  ! 

"  Our  Father  !"     Let  us  learn  their  worth  ! 

For  never,  until  then, 
Can  we  e'er  realize  on  earth 

Peace  and  good  will  to  men. 


THE  WRECK  OF   A  BROKEN  LIFE. 


METHOTJGHT  I  stood  upon  life's  ocean  strand, 
And  mark'd  a  helpless  object,  far  from  land, 

Amid  its  angry  strife  ; 
Rudely  the  billows  heav'd  it  to  and  fro; 
The  wreck,  of  all  wrecks  direst  here  below — 

That  of  a  broken  life. 

I  saw  it  in  the  swelling  surges  toss'd ; 

With  shatter'd  masts,  torn  sails,  and  rudder  lost- 
Daring  the  briny  foam ; 

I  saw  it  striving  on  its  dangerous  way, 

To  seek  the  entrance  of  some  port  or  bay 
That  might  conduct  it  home. 

No  cheering  pharos  warn'd  from  danger  dread ; 
All  human  aid  had  fail'd — all  hope  had  fled 

In  any  earthly  power  ; 
But  still  it  struggled  ; — striving  yet  to  save 
Itself  from  death  beneath  the  foaming  wave, 

In  that  dark,  threat'ning  hour. 
188 


THE   WRECK   OF     A   BROKEN   LIFE.  189 

All  vain  the  strife — its  fury  would  not  cease ; 
No  waken'3  sleeper  yet  had  murmur'd — "  Peace  I" 

That  Sleeper,  still  uncall'd, 
Could  not  befriend  in  that  portentous  hour, 
Because  the  struggling  victim  spurn'd  His  power, 

Though  dangers  dire  appall'd. 

Then  I  discern'd,  upon  the  billows  high, 
The  Ark  of  Safety  riding  fearlessly — 

Its  Pilot  at  the  helm  ; 
That  dauntless  Pilot,  that  unerring  Guide, 
Who  can  protect  against  whatever  tide 

May  threaten  to  o'erwhelm. 

And  then,  methought,  that  wreck  He  yearn'd  to  bless, 
Rais'd  timidly  its  signal  of  distress, 

And  rais'd  it  not  in  vain  ; 

For  soon,  within  the  Ark  His  strong  arm  drew 
That  sinking  wreck ;  rebuk'd,  and  whisperd,  too, 

"  Peace  to  the  angry  main !" 

That  Sleeper  and  that  Pilot  both  are  one  ; 
They  bear  the  rescued  now  securely  on 

Toward  an  eternal  shore  ; 
In  vain  the  storms  arise — the  tempests  blow  ; 
'Neath  His  protection  it  no  fear  can  know; 

Its  perils  all  are  o'er. 


190  THE    WRECK    OF     A    BROKEN   LIFE. 

Ye  broken  life-wrecks,  with  a  care  as  true, 
The  same  unerring  Pilot  waits  for  you ;     , 

Waits  to  convey  you  home ; 
Fear  not  to  enter  His  all-saving  Ark ; 
That  Ark  protects  from  ev'ry  tempest  dark — 

Each  danger  that  may  come. 


WHITE    SWEARING. 


THERE  is  a  legend,  old,  and  quaint,  and  rustic, 

•  A  legend  of  a  lad, 

Who,  taking  once  his  airy  flight  through  dream-land, 
This  curious  vision  had: 

He  dream'd  that  he  had  died  and  gone  to  judgment; 

And  that  with  him  did  come 
All  th'  unnumber'd  hosts  of  earth  and  heaven, 

To  hear  their  final  doom. 

And  one  was  there,  arraigned  for  white-lying ; 

Or  telling  lies  in  jest ; 
Who  on  the  left  was  plac'd — 'mongst  other  culprits, 

When  past  the  solemn  test. 

This  was  a  dream — yet  I  have  often  wondered 

If  such  the  fate  must  be 
Of  the  white-liar,  what  shall  the  white-swearer 

In  other  regions  see  ? 

191 


192  WHITE    SWEARING. 

Some  "  goody-good  folks,"   who  would  shrink   and 
shudder, 

A  real  oath  to  hear, 
Seem  to  indulge  the  practice  of  white-swearing, 

Untrammell'd  by  a  fear. 

They  swear  by  slamming  doors  and  throwing  objects 

That  happen  in  their  way  ; 
They  swear  by  modest  little  oaths,  invented 

For  Christians  (?)  such  as  they. 

Can  the  same  fount  hold  waters  sweet  and  bitter  ? 

'Not  readily,  I  ween  ! 
Then  look  you  to  the  source  from  whence  proceedeth 

Such  outbursts  of  the  spleen  ! 

I  do  not  wish  to  meddle  or  be  curious, 

But  can't  help  wondering  here — 
What  is  the  penalty,  when  for  white-swearing 

The  guilty  must  appear. 


INDEPENDENCE   MUST  HAVE   LIMITS. 


"  INDEPENDENCE  must  have  limits !" 

Says  the  caviller  at  right — 
*'  Lay  aside  your  sword  and  helmet ! 

Cease  to  don  your  armor  bright ! 
Combats,  carried  to  excesses, 

Never  yet  did  any  good  ; — 
Seek  not  to  obtain  redresses, 

E'en  at  cost  of  your  heart's  blood  ! 
Guard  ye  well  each  daring  action ! 

Guard  ye  each  undaunted  word  ! 
Guard  them  !  lest  in  feeling's  fountain 

Bitter  draughts  ye  may  have  stirred." 

Independence  must  have  limits  ! 

Was  it  thus  our  father's  taught  ? 
Was  it  such  a  Declaration 

They  to  England's  sov'reign  brought? 
Prompted  by  this  cowardly  motto, 

Struggled  they  for  liberty  ? 
17  193 


194  INDEPENDENCE    MUST   HAVE   LIMITS. 

Did  they  by  such  half-way  prowess, 
Vanquish  Britain's  tyranny  ? 

No  !  their  Stoic  independence 

Proudly  spurned  such  cringing  laws — 

Fortunes,  lives,  and  sacred  honor — 
All  they  pledged  in  Freedom's  cause. 

Independence  must  have  limits ! 

Yes  !  when  Error's  reign  is  o'er  ; 
When  fair  Truth,  by  her  untrammell'd, 

Eises  to  be  crushed  no  more ; 
"When,  like  disembodied  spirits, 

Suffering  humanity 
From  all  outrage  and  oppression 

Boasts  herself  forever  free ; 
When  no  more,  o'er  earth  and  ocean, 

Contumely's  war  trumpet  sounds; — 
Then,  and  not  until  that  moment, 

Independence  may  have  bounds. 


THE   EXODUS    OF    THE   NINETEENTH 
CENTUKY. 

"  The  exodus  of  the  slave  will  be  through  the  Red  Sea." — Lovefoy. 


BLOOD!  blood!  blood! 

How  flows  that  crimson  tide! 
Oh,  when  will  the  sources  that  swell  its  streams 

E'er  cease  to  be  supplied  ? 
Must  perish  another  "  Pharaoh's  host," 
In  its  terrible  depths  thus  fiercely  toss'd, 
While  "  Israel's  oppress'd  "  on  dry  land  are  eross'd  ? 

Blood!  blood!  blood! 

Groans !  groans  I  groans  1 

How  they  load  th'  ambient  air ! 
While  ascends  to  heaven's  eternal  throne 

Each  agonizing  prayer! 

For  eighty  years  have  such  groans  been  heard,- 
Such  bitter  groans  from  our  South-land  pour'd, 
Yet  Columbia's  bosom  was  scarcely  stirr'd  ! 

Groans !  groans !   groans  I 
195 


196  THE  EXODUS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTURY. 

Death  !  death !  death  ! 

"What  fearful  numbers  fall ! 
When  to  Adam's  enslaved  a  ransom  came, 

One  Life  atoned  for  all ! 
Then  must  so  many  loved  be  lost — 
So  many  thresholds  by  sorrow  cross'd, 
Ere  our  nation  redeems  what  her  crime  has  cost  ? 

Death!  death!  death! 

Grief  !  grief  !  grief  ! 

List  to  those  deep-drawn  sighs  ! 
North,  South,  East,  West — in  war-drear'd  homes, 

Successively  they  rise ! 

Such  grief,  such  tears  have  long  been  known 
In  cotton-fields — in  rice-swamps  lone  ; — 
Now  from  Afric's  to  Europe's  race  they've  flown  ! 

Grief  !  grief  !  grief  ! 

Tears  !  tears  !  tears ! 

How  copiously  they  flow  ! 
Wrung  from  heart-depths,  their  founts  are  stirr'd 

By  keenest  mental  woe ! 
Baptized  in  blood  and  tears,  our  land 
In  future  years,  may  firmer  stand, 
Chasten'd  by  an  avenging  Hand! 

Tears  !  tears  !  tears  ! 


THE  EXODUS  OF  THE  NINETEENTH  CENTUEY.  197 

Light!  light!  light! 

It  breaks  through  darkest  gloom ! 
It  pledges  America's  enslaved 

Freedom  in  Freedom's  home  ! 
Author  of  light !  oh,  bless  that  ray  I 
Guide  it  upon  its  heavenward  way, 
Till  it  attains  to  perfect  day ! 

Light!  light!  light! 
17* 


IN    MEMOEIAM. 

Died,  at  Fortress  Monroe,  Va.,  of  Typhoid  Fever,  on  the  18th  of 
1st  month,  1862,  in  the  25th  year  of  his  age,  Dr.  Chas.  K.  Thomas, 
of  llth  Pa,  Cavalry. — At  Camp  Pierpont,  Va.,  1st  month,  28th, 
1862,  in  the  19th  year  of  his  age,  of  Brain  Fever,  Benj.  H.  Roberts, 
of  the  4th  Reg.  Penna.  Reserves. — At  Hilton  Head,  Port  Royal, 
S.  C.,  on  the  30th  of  1st  month,  of  Typhoid  Fever,  Sergeant  Gerritt 
S.  Hambleton,  of  the  9Tth  Reg.  P.  V.,  aged  22  years. 

Give  thanks 

That  they  are  safe  with  Him  who  hath  the  power 
O'er  pain  and  sin  and  death. — L.  II.  Sigourney. 


PEACEFULLY  they  slumber  now  ! 

Peaceful,  'neath  the  valley's  clod 
Pallid,  cold,  each  manly  brown  ! 

Priceless  spirits  gone  to  God. 
From  the  camp's  excitement  free, 

From  its  dangers  and  its  toils, 
In  celestial  liberty, 

Safe  from  all  the  Tempter's  foils. 
198 


IN    ME  MORI  AM.  199 

'Twas  not  theirs  to  do  and  dare 

On  the  gory  battle-plain  • 
'Twas  not  theirs  to  perish  where 

Thousands  of  the  brave  are  slain. 
But  did  they  less  truly  die 

In  their  country's  righteous  cause, 
Answering  her  earnest  cry, 

Aiding  to  sustain  her  laws  ? 

Was  the  sacrifice  less  great, 

They  upon  her  altar  laid, 
Than  the  heroes  who  in  state 

Wait  a  nation's  homage  paid  ? 
Ask  the  stricken  mourners  left 

Weeping  for  their  early  dead ! 
Ask  the  circles  thus  bereft 

Of  their  brilliant  "  earth-stars  "  fled  I 

Ask  our  country's  future  good 

When  hostilities  shall  cease  ; 
And  her  noblest  brotherhood 

Hail  with  joy  the  dawn  of  peace  I 
Costly  treasures  these  to  yield  I 

Worthy  of  the  richest  gain  ! 
May  the  forum  and  the  field 

Prove  them  yielded  not  in  vain ! 


AFTER    THE    BATTLE. 


THE  smoke-cloud  is  merged  in  .the  pure  ether  sea, 

And  hushed  the  artillery's  rattle; 
And  Luna  looks  down  with  a  face  calmly  pale, 

On  the  gory  field  after  the  battle. 
Low,  low  on  the  clayey  bed,  red  with  their  blood, 

Friend  and  foe,  horse  and  rider  are  lying  ; 
While  e'er  and  anon,  a  heart-rending  groan 

Tells  the  fate  of  the  wounded  and  dying. 

On  Fancy's  light  wing  let  us  soar  o'er  that  spot 

Kenown'd  in  Columbia's  story  ; 
Let  us  gaze  for  a  while  on  that  carnage  which  shows 

Her  record  of  shame  and  of  glory  ! 
Let  us  muse  on  each  scene  which  the  moonlight  re- 
veals ! 

Scenes  that  make  the  heroic  heart  tremble ; 
Scenes  that  waken  the  deep  fount  of  feeling  within — 

Such  feeling  we  would  not  dissemble. 
200 


AFTER   THE   BATTLE.  201 

Here  lies  one  with  a  miniature  'neath  his  cold  hand, 

Of  a  lovely  and  beautiful  woman  ; — 
Did  his  warrior's  heart  love  that  being  in  life, 

With  a  fervor  the  deepest  that's  human  ? 
Was  that  prototype  loving  friend,  sister,  or  wife  ? 

(Too  youthful  it  seems  for  his  mother) ; 
These  myst'ries  we  never  may  know  in  this  life : 

They  await  the  pure  light  of  another. 

And  here,  with  his  Bible  worn  close  to  his  breast, 

Another  in  silence  reposes ; 
That  Bible — few  words  might  the  history  tell, 

Which  e'en  now  it  in  silence  discloses. 
'Twas  the  gift  of  his  mother — her  last,  parting  gift, 

Which  she  bade  him  to  love  and  to  cherish; 
And  that  treasure  he  bore  as  he  bravely  went  forth 

The  foremost  in  battle  to  perish. 

Here  are  two ;  in  death's  slumber  they  rest  side  by 
side  ; 

Yet  no  contrast  could  e'er  have  been  greater ; 
For  one  is  enrob'd  in  a  patriot's  garb, 

The  other  the  garb  of  a  traitor. 
Why  is  this  ?     Was  the  conflict  so  fearful  that  thus 

In  mutual  embrace  they  have  perished  ? 
Or  did  mem'ry  recall  a  friendship,  that  e'en 

'Mid  rebellion  and  strife  had  not  perished. 


202  AFTER   THE   BATTLE. 

And  this,  this  is  war !  such  as  fair  Avon's  bard, 

So  famed  in  poetical  story, 
In  language  of  pathos  hath  made  to  possess 

Pomp,  circumstance,  undying  glory. 
God  spare  our  loved  country  more  glory  like  this ! 

From  such  circumstance,  pomp,  e'er  defend  her  ! 
And  instead,   the    bright  ensigns  of  Freedom  and 
Peace 

Sustain  in  their  unfading  splendor. 


NAYIS    EEPUBLIC^E. 


Kepublicse  !     Why  sails  she  now, 
Shatter'd  her  timbers  all,  from  stern  to  prow  ? 
Stormy  the  sea  she  plows,  low'ring  her  sky  ? 
Hanging  portentous  clouds  o'er  her  on  high  ? 
Who's  her  commander  now  ?     Who  are  her  crew  ? 
Are  they  not  brave  as  wont,  faithful  and  true? 
Where  are  her  JefTersons,  Franklins,  and  Lees  ? 
Carrolls  of  Carrollton  ?     Are  none  of  these 
Near  her  to  succor  her  ere  she  shall  wreck  ? 
Whence  comes  yon  pirate  crew,  thronging  her  deck  ? 
Blood  is  upon  that  deck — blood  stains  each  wave 
That  'gainst  her  creaking  keel  madly  doth  lave  ! 
Ha  !  still  her  banner  waves  !     See  I  aright  ? — 
Pierc'd   through   with  bullet-holes !      Ah  !    what   a 

sight — 

Grieving  my  spirit  thus ! — Mount  Yernon's  son, 
Navis,  such  fate  for  thee  ne'er  would  have  known ; 
Tell  me  what  foreign  foe  dar'd  to  assail 
Thus  our  loved  "  stars  and  stripes,"  braving  the  gale  ? 

203 


204  NAVIS     REPUBLICS. 

ISTavis  Republics  !     Her  signal  bell 

Kings  out  the  solemn  words — "  All  is  not  well !" 

Yet,  ll  Pater  Patrse,"  no  foreign  foe 

Dealt  on  our  ensign  proud  that  cowardly  blow  ; 

Pierc'd  it  with  bullet-holes ; — Mount  Yemen's  heir — 

Sire — thine  own  flesh  and  blood  helped  place  them 

there ; 
Treason   hath   madden'd   them — made   their   hearts 

cold  ; 

Summon'd  in  serried  ranks  Arnolds  of  old  ; 
Forth  from  protection  strong  madly  thej^'ve  flown, 
Built  in  a  frenzied  hour  craft  of  their  own  ; — 
Kaised  amid  pond'rous  masts  their  tl  stars  and  bars ;" 
Taunted  insultingly  our  "stripes  and  stars." 
Vainly  our  Middletons,  Hancocks,  Treat  Paines, 
Prescotts  and  Sullivans,  Putnams  and  Waynes, 
Kise  in  defence  of  her,  manning  each  post, 
Vowing  their  gallant  ship  shall  not  be  lost. 
Spirit  of  Washington,  patriot  sire, 
Tell  us,  while  dimly  burns  Liberty's  fire, 
Why  gains  each  leak  so  fast  ?     Can  nothing  save  ? 
Must  our  storm-shatter'd    barque  sink    'neath    the 

wave  ? 

Navis  Republics  !     In  days  of  yore 
Was  it  for  this  we  such  sacrifice  bore  ? 


OFTHE 

UNIVERSITY 

c     OF 

^E.  205 


All  that  was  dearest  pledged — all  to  sustain 
Thee,  our  own  fragile  barque,  daring  the  main  ? 
Strong  hast  thou  grown  since  then — what  means  this 

strife  ? — 

Homicide — Fratricide  threat'ning  thy  life? 
Ha !     Now  I  see  it  .all !     Now  I  behold  ! 

* 

Mark  ye  yon  dusky  forms  crowding  her  hold ! 
Panting  for  liberty — Heaven's  free  air  ! 
Think  ye  to  save  the  ship  while  they  are  there? 
Shame,  shame  upon  you  all !     Do  ye  not  know 
Crime  such  as  this  can't  avert  Heaven's  blow  ? 
Quick  ! — Cast  the  life-boats  forth  into  the  sea  ! 
Bid  all  take  refuge  there  who  would  be  free ! 
Give  them  their  "  turn  at  pump,"  aiding  to  save 
Ere  your  tossed  vessel  is  lost  'neath  the  wave  ! 
Sad  was  the  oversight,  barque  of  the  free, 
When  such  a  heritage  left  we  to  thee. 
Ha  !  they're  obeying  now  !     Captain,  well  done  ! 
Now  may  thy  vessel  move  fearlessly  on, 
Purging  iniquity,  cleansing  each  stain — 
Claiming  God's  blessing  forever.     Amen  I 
18 


WHEN  THE  WAE  ENDS. 


WHEN  this  bloody  war  is  ended, 

When  this  sanguine  strife  is  o'er, 
When  the  din  and  shock  of  battle 

Through  our  land  resounds  no  more ; 
When  dethroned,  foul-hearted  Treason 

Fills  an  ignominious  tomb  ; 
And  the  hordes  that  raised  his  banner 

Justly  meet  a  traitor's  doom, 
Will  there  be  throughout  our  nation, 

One  blest  home  from  anguish  free  ? 
Anguish  caused  by  mad  rebellion, 

And  inhuman  butchery  ; 
One  fond  heart  unscathed  by  sorrow, 

One  bright  eye,  undimmed  by  tears; 
Tears  shed  for  some  slain  beloved  one, 

Sacrificed  in  manhood's  years  ? 
206 


WHEN   THE   WAK   ENDS.  207 

"  When  the  war  ends  " — writes  the  soldier 

To  his  cherished  friends  and  home  ; 
"  When,  through  Slavery's  dominions 

'Tis  no  more  my  lot  to  roam ; 
When  my  country's  call  is  answered, 

When  her  victories  are  won  ; 
And  the  dawn  of  peace  proclaimeth 

That  th'  warrior's  task  is  done ; 
Then  to  home's  alluring  precincts, 

Trust  I  safely  to  return, 
Joying  that  throughout  our  nation 

Freedom's  watch-fires  brightly  burn." 
Hopeful  words  I — Words  fitly  spoken 

By  the  loyal-hearted  brave  ! 
But  how  often  hushed  to  silence 

In  a  laurell'd  hero's  grave. 

When  this  cruel  war  is  ended, 

When  its  horrid  scenes  are  o'er, 
Blushingly,  my  mother  country, 

Blushingly  wilt  thou  deplore 
That,  within  thy  truthful  annals 

Thou  a  record  must  retain 
Of  a  crime  so  dark  and  damning 

O 

Nought  but  blood  could  cleanse  the  stain ; 


208  WHEN   THE   WAR  ENDS. 

That,  in  fratricidal  conflict, 

Fiercely,  desperately  strove 
Sons  whom  thy  fond  bosom  nurtur'd — • 

Sons  who  shared  thy  common  love ; 
That  against  thy  star-gemmed  banner, 

All  ungratefully  arose 
Arms  that  should  for  aye  have  shielded 

That  proud  ensign  from  its  foes. 

When  the  war  ends — who  can  tell  us 

When  and  where  that  end  shall  be  ? 
Heaven  decrees  its  termination — 

UNIVEKSAL   LIBEETY1 
Freemen,  will  ye  dare  to  falter 

Till  that  high  decree's  fulfilled  ? 
If  ye  dare,  then  worse  than  vainly 

Has  your  precious  blood  been  spilled  ! 
Worse  than  vainly,  friends  and  kindred, 

Mothers,  sisters,  daughters,  wives, 
Mourn  ye  those  who  in  this  contest, 

Bravely,  freely,  yield  their  lives. 
Choose  to-day  then  ! — Choose  between  them, 

Whom  to  serve ! — Who  is  your  Lord  ? 
Choose  ye  Baal  ? — Share  his  curses ! 

Choose  ye  God  ? — His  high  rewards ! 


FOET  PILLOW. 

"  For  the  devil  is  come  down  unto  you,  having  great  wrath,  be- 
cause he  knoweth  that  he  hath  but  a  short  time." — Rev.  xii.  12. 


MOUKNFUL    tidings  from   our   borders!     Mournful 

tidings  from  the  West ! 
Tidings  of  the  cowardly  slaughter  of  our  bravest  and 

our  best ! 
Draping  the  dark  pall  of  sorrow  over  homesteads 

richly  blest. 

Mournful   tidings !     Ah,  how  mournful !  when  our 

shrinking  mental  sight 
Marks,  in  all  their  ghastly  horror,  in  their  soul-ap 

palling  might, 
Visions  of  the  charred  and  mangled  victims  of  that 

treach'rous  fight. 
18*  209 


210  FORT   PILLOW. 

Happy  omen  of  thy  future,  shattered,  suff 'ring  coun- 
try mine, 

Omen  of  a  purer  freedom  proffered  unto  thee  and 
thine — 

Seek  ye,  sinful  generation,  for  a  more  propitious 
sign? 

See  ye  not  on  yon  dark  war-cloud,  even  now,  the 
arching  bow, 

Pledging  us  the  speedy  triumph  of  Eebellion's  over- 
throw ? 

Triumph  o'er  the  craven  spirit  that  can  scourge  a 
fallen  foe. 

See  ye  not  the  cast-out  demon,  writhing,  foaming  in 
its  wrath, 

Maddened  by  its  desperation,  deeply  conscious  that 
it  hath 

But  a  short  time  yet  to  linger  in  its  dang'rous;  down- 
ward path  ? 

Patience,  then,  ye  toiling  millions  !  Pray  for  pa- 
tience once  again ! 

Though  still  louder  clank  the  fetters  of  Oppression's 
galling  chain — 

Patience !  for  that  louder  clanking  marks  their  sever- 
ing in  twain. 


FORT  PILLOW.  211 

Heaven  knows  what  ye  have  suffered !     Heaven  will 

the  crime  avenge — 
Conscious  that  these  darksome  moments  but  foretell 

a  brighter  change, 
Grant  we   to   our   erring  brother   rather  pity  than 

revenge. 

Heaven  knows  what  ye  have  suffered !  Only 
Heaven  now  doth  know 

What  we're  destined  all  to  suffer,  ere  is  dealt  the 
final  blow, 

Hurling  to  its  sure  destruction,  this,  our  direst,  dead- 
liest foe. 

But  that  blow  will  fall  as  surely  as  a  just  God  reigns 

above — 
Chastened  then,  but  not  despairing,  let  us  wait  the 

hour  to  prove 
That  these  Fatherly  corrections  all  contain  a  Father's 

love. 


OUR  DEAD   HEROES. 

They  never  fail  who  die  in  a  good  cause." 


I  COME  not  now  to  tell  the  mournful  story 
Of  the  renowned  and  nation-honored  dead  ; 

Who,  in  th'  acme  of  their  fame  and  glory, 
In  Freedom's  cause  have  bled. 

All  honor  to  the  vet'rans,  loyal,  fearless, 

Whose  lives  within  our  country's  shrine  are  lain ; 

Who,  with  undaunted  prowess,  truly  peerless, 
Led  forth  her  martial  train. 

More  gifted  pens  unite  to  do  them  rev'rence, 
More  able  voices  join  in  notes  of  praise  ; 

I  would  not  then  aspire,  amid  such  cadence, 
To  swell  my  humble  lays. 

Mine  be  the  task  to  chant,  in  dirge-like  numbers, 

A  requiem  for  th'  unlauded  brave — 
The  humbler  hero,  who  now  calmly  slumbers 

In  some  unnoticed  grave. 
212 


OUR   DEAD   HEROES.  213 

Some  peaceful  sleeper  'neath  the  restless  waters 
Of  a  famed  river,  creek,  or  surging  bay; 

Mourn'd  by  fond  sisters,  mother,  wife,  or  daughters, 
In  homes,  far,  far  away. 

Some  patient  sufferer  in  rebel  prison, 
In  Fed'ral  hospital,  or  fort,  or  camp ; — 

Whose   fervent   prayers  for   Truth's  advance   have 

risen, 
As  wan'd  life's  flickering  lamp. 

Some  wounded  champion  on  the  field  of  battle, 
Falling  unheeded  'mid  the  carnage  dread ; 

And  moaning  out,  unheard,  the  drear  death-rattle 
Upon  his  gory  bed. 

Or  some  lone  picket,  faithful  to  his  duty, 
Treading  in  silence  his  appointed  round  ; 

Musing  on  home-scenes  love  has  clothed  in  beauty ; 
Till,  on  death's  mission  bound, 

A  fatal  bullet  from  a  rebel  weapon, 

Gleaming  like   lightning  through   the  mid-night 

gloom, 
Dissolves  his  faith-illumined  visions  halcyon, 

In  sight  beyond  the  tomb. 


214  OUR    DEAD   HEROES. 

Braves  such  as  these,  are  daily,  hourly  falling ; 

Their  eulogies  unsung,  their  names  unknown ; 
Their  blood,  like  righteous  Abel's,  loudly  calling 

Unto  Jehovah's  throne. 

For  them  my  pen  would  trace  these  dirge-like  meas- 
ures, 

For  them  my  soul  in  sympathy  would  burn 
With  'reft  ones,  mourning  for  their  household  treas- 
ures, 
That  nevermore  return. 

Such  are  the  gems,  my  loved,  but  guilty  nation. 
From  fond  and  yearning  hearts  remorseless  torn, 

To  pay  the  price  of  thy  regeneration, 
Thy  second  natal  morn. 

Thy  infant  life  in  pristine  freshness  glowing, 

By  blood  and  tears  its  advent  mark'd  on  earth ; — • 

Blood,  blood  and  tears  the  advent  are  foreshowing, 
Of  this,  thy  purer  birth. 

In  Adam  thou  hast  died ;  in  Christ  reviving, 
Go  forth  triumphant  on  thy  heavenward  way! 

Incessantly  'gainst  sin  and  evil  striving, 
Press  on  to  perfect  day  ! 


OUR   DEAD    HEROES.  215 

Thou  sliouldst  "  love  much  ;"  for  great  has  been  thy 
error — 

Chasten'd  by  this  severe  internal  strife ; 
Emerging  from  this  Modern  "  Keign  of  Terror," 

Live  thou  a  truer  life  1 


WHAT  I  SAW,  HEAKD,  AND   THOUGHT, 

AT  THE  THIRD  ANTI-SLAVERY  DECADE  HELD  IN  CONCERT 
HALL,  PHILADA.,  DECEMBER  3d  and  4th,  1863. 


THIS  is  the  place — the  hall  where  many  a  scene 
Like  to  the  present  has  enacted  been ; 
But  not  in  times  like  these — for  thirty  years 
These  champions  for  truth,  'mid  taunts  and  jeers, 
'Mid  persecutions,  scoffs,  and  proud  disdain, 
Hoping  'gainst  hope,  yet  deeming  nothing  vain. 
That  might  promote  the  cause  they  had  espoused, 
Or  thwart  the  demon  that  their  zeal  aroused— 
Have  firmly  stood — a  small,  but  dauntless  band, 
Pledged  to  the  right,  united,  heart  and  hand, 
'Gainst  the  foul  crime  polluting  all  our  land. 
Careless  spectators  oft  the  scene  surveyed, 
Idly  regretting,  needlessly  dismayed 
By  the  loud  clamor  opposition  made. 

216 


217 


While  some,  like  me,  with  zealous  ardor  fired, 

Have  stood  aloof,  and  silently  admired. 

Have  stood  aloof!  been  silent !     And  for  why  ? 

Not  from  a  lack  of  kindred  sympathy  ; 

Though  time  there  was — with  shame  I  it  confess — 

When  I  discerned  not  Christ's  true  righteousness 

In  aught  of  this.     In  early  life  'twas  thus, 

False  education  made  me  what  I  was  ; — 

But  later  years,  thank  God,  a  change  have  wrought ; 

All  prejudice  o'ercome,  I  now  am  brought 

To  sit  with  them  as  one  in  feeling,  thought. 

I've  stood  aloof,  been  silent,  but  for  this — 

A  painful  sense  of  my  unworthiness ; 

My  own  unfitness  for  so  great  a  task  ; 

And  though  I  now  most  gladly  doff  the  mask 

That  long  has  screened  me,  I'd  be  silent  still — 

Content  to  manifest  my  ready  will 

To  sit  and  listen  as  each  speaker's  voice 

Salutes  my  ear  ;  arid  inwardly  rejoice 

That  right  at  last  has  triumphed  over  might — 

That  morn  has  dawned  after  so  dark  a  night. 

And  mine  is  not  the  only  heart  thus  changed, 

That  long  has  been  an  alien  and  estranged 

From  truth's  great  sheep-fold.     Mark  ye  not  around 

What  order  reigns  ?     What  interest  profound 
19 


218         WHAT   I    SAW,    HEARD,    AND    THOUGHT. 

Enwraps  the  throng,  save  when  prolonged  applause 
Salutes  some  earnest  champion  of  the  cause  ? 

What's  wrought  the  change  ?  From  Sumter's  war- 
scathed  walls 

The  answer  comes.     In  thunder-tones  it  falls 
On  startled  ears — "  They  who  refuse  to  hear 
The  voice  of  justice  when  the  sky  is  clear, 
'Mid  blood  and  carnage  shall  that  voice  revere  I" 

The  morning  session's  o'er,  else  I  might  tell 
How  on  my  ears  the  written  message  fell, 
Of  him,  "  The  Quaker  Bard  of  Amesbury," 
Arid  other  advocates  of  liberty ; 
But  I'll  content  me  with  what's  yet  to  be. 
What  objects  meet  my  gaze  ?     Upon  yon  stand, 
An  auction- block  for  slaves — bane  of  our  land — - 
Is  brought  to  view  !     What  stories  it  might  tell 
Of  grief  and  horror!     But  I  may  not  dwell 
Upon  them  now.     One  of  more  just  renown — 
A  life-like  portrait  of  the  martyr,  Brown — 
Hangs  just  beyond  it.     'Tis  a  happy  thought 
That  thus  in  close  proximity  has  brought, 
As  if  by  contrast,  objects  so  remote 
In  worth  and  meaning — bidding  us  denote 
That  mute  memento  of  past  woe  and  crime, 
And  this,  of  deeds  heroic  and  sublime. 


WHAT   I   SAW,    HEAED,    A.ND   THOUGHT.         219 

A  voice  is  heard  ;  and  one  whose  worthy  name     . 
Has  long  been  coupled  with  abuse  and  blame — 
Columbia's  children,  be  it  to  your  shame! — 
Keturning  good  for  evil  in  this  hour 
When  his  loved  cause  is  gaining  strength  and  power, 
Slav'ry's  undaunted  foe,  Lloyd  Garrison, 
Welcomes  the  audience  in  kindest  tone. 

A  speaker  he  announces — List  to  him  ! 
Of  unpretending  name — J.  M.  McKim  ! 
Yet  at  that  name  the  hearts  of  millions  thrill ! 
Hear  him  as  he  relates  how,  through  God's  will, 
He  has  been  led  into  the  path  he  treads, 
Thus  showering  blessings  on  the  humblest  heads. 
Within  his  voice  hpw  much  of  kindness  reigns! 
And  yet,  methinks,  his  speech  a  fault  contains ; 
I'd  tell  it  here — a  little  cloud  he  names 
This  mighty  movement  'gainst  oppression's  aims, 
Not  larger  in  the  past  than  human  hand, 
And  spreading  now  abroad  o'er  all  the  land. 
I'd  rather  he  had  said — The  glirnm'ring  light 
Which  now  is  growing  brighter  and  more  bright ; 
For  see  !  The  clouds  are  all  dispelling  now, 
'Mid  war's  loud  thunders  ;  while,  on  Freedom's  brow 
A  brighter  halo  and  a  more  divine 
Than  e'er  was  hers  must  in  the  future  shine. 


220         WHAT  I   SAW,    HEARD,   AND   THOUGHT. 

.  Footsteps  resound  along  the  spacious  aisle, 
The  speaker's  earnest  tones  are  hushed  a  while, 
As  pass,  with  measured  tread,  a  retinue 
Of  sable  forms  arrayed  in  army  blue; 
A  delegation  from  Camp  Wm.  Penn, 
Under  command  of  Sergeant  Brown — brave  men ! 
A  welcome  they  receive  on  ev'ry  hand, 
As  they  advance  ;  upon  the  speaker's  stand 
Are  seats  prepared  for  that  heroic  band. 
While  o'er  their  heads  that  ensign's  colors  blend, 
"Which  they  have  sworn  to  die  or  to  defend. 
Tears  dim  my  eyes — tears  from  the  inward  strife 
Caused  by  this  foretaste  of  celestial  life  ; 
A  life  where  caste  and  color  are  unknown, 
Save  as  a  unit  'round  the  "  Great  White  Throne." 

Another  name's  announced — and  Mary  Grew, 
One  of  the  faithful,  patient,  toiling  few 
Who've  borne  their  weary  burden  in  the  heat 
Comes  forth  with  brief  but  earnest  words,  to  greet 
Each  eager  list'ner ;  and  contrast  this  hour 
With  that  in  which  our  subtle  foe  had  power. 

Anon  another  one — Samuel  J.  May ; 
A  Reverend  he  is  termed,  and  yet,  how  gay, 
How  full  of  wit  and  merriment  doth  seem 
His  words  and  manner  for  so  grave  a  theme; 


WHAT   I   SAW,    HEARD,    AND   THOUGHT.         221 

But  mark  you,  'neatli  that  sparkling  eloquence 

An  under-current  flows — a  consciousness 

Of  the  great  burden  'tis  his  lot  to  bear, 

Responsibilities  'tis  his  to  share ; 

Yet  mingling  it  with  mirth — we'll  trust  him,  then, 

As  far,  and  farther  than  some  graver  men. 

Now  comes  forth  one — ne'er  let  her  be  forgot — 
That  vet'ran  in  the  cause — Lucretia  Mott ; 
From  youth  to  age,  e'er  faithful  to  the  right, 
To  the  true  guidance  of  the  "  inner  light," 
Clad  in  her  modest  Quaker  garb,  she  seems 
Like  some  chaste  spirit  one  beholds  in  dreams. 
Hear  her,  as  with  deep  pathos  she  doth  tell 
Each  sad  experience ;  and  anon  doth  dwell 
On  scenes  more  ludicrous  in  by-gone  years, 
Exciting  in  their  turn  both  mirth  and  tears ; — 
Enlisting  ev'ry  heart  in  the  good  cause, 
She  takes  her  seat  amid  prolonged  applause. 

The  morning  dawns !    And  yet  its  dawnings  bright 
Hide  not  the  radiance  of  another  light 
Upon  Truth's  watchtower — modest  though  its  mien, 
As  H.  Ward  Beecher  comes  upon  the  scene. 
His  words  are  few ;  yet  fraught   with   weight  and 

power; 
A  world-acknowleged  champion  for  this  hour, 


222          WHAT   I    SAW,    HEARD,    AND    THOUGHT. 

When  light  and  darkness,  in  a  bloody  strife, 
Hold  in  their  hands  our  nation's  death  or  life. 
Blessings  upon  him  !     Aye,  and  God  will  bless 
Such  faithful  teachers  of  his  righteousness. 

Next  Chas.  C.  Burleigh's  deep-toned  voice  is  heard  ; 
Is  there  a  soul  within  its  sound  not  stirred 
By  its  pure  eloquence  ?     A  heart  not  fired 
With  the  true  zeal  his  language  has  inspired  ? 

But  I  must  haste  me  !     Speakers  multiply 
Upon  me  here,  and  I  must  pass  them  by ; 
Save  but  to  note  the  names  of  Anthony, 
The  Fosters,  Powell,  Wagner,  Stone,  and  she, 
One  of  the  noblest  women  of  her  age — 
The  Freedman's  earnest  helper — F.  D.  Gage. 
And  Johnson,  too,  whose  editorial  pen 
And  fluent  tongue  so  oft  have  claimed  for  men 
Bights,  equal  rights,  their  God-appointed  due, 
Whatever  be  their  nation,  clime,  or  hue. 

The  evening  session — See  !  an  alien  stands 
Upon  the  platform — not  from  foreign  lands  ; 
But  alienated  by  a  tainted  blood 
That  man's  weak  judgment  has  pronounced  not  good  1 
'Tis  Robert  Purvis  !     Though  his  words  are  few, 
They  mark  the  gentleman,  the  patriot  true; 
Asking  that  God  a  country  yet  may  save, 
Who  ne'er  to  him  and  his  protection  gave. 


WHAT   I    SAW,    HEAKD,    AND   THOUGHT.         223 

Now  Tilton's  voice  is  heard ;  one  young  in  years, 
But  old  in  wisdom,  on  the  stage  appears; 
Mark  ye  that  manly  face,  whose  poet  soul 
Illumes  each  lineament,  seems  to  control 
His  ev'ry  word  and  act !     How  brilliantly 
His  burning  words,  denouncing  slavery, 
Sparkle  with  gems  of  truth  and  poesy  ! 

Another  still  from  'mongst  the  good  and  great, 
Senator  Wilson  of  the  old  "  Bay  State," 
In  Congress  halls  e'er  true  to  Freedom's  cause, 
Kises  'mid  rounds  of  deafening  applause  ; 
A  statesman's  logic  it  is  his  to  wield, 
Adapted  more  to  forum  than  to  field  ; 
And  savoring  much  of  practical  good  sense, 
Destined  to  win  a  nation's  confidence. 

Next  Douglass  stands — a  living  monument 
Of  what  man  dare  do,  when  his  soul  is  rent 
By  tortures  wrought,  on  his  clay  tenement. 
Enough  of  Southern  fire  his  speech  contains, 
Enough  of  Afric's  blood  flows  through  his  veins 
To  make  impressive,  while  it  entertains, 
His  speech,  gesticulation.     Spoke  he,  then, 
A  sentence  ;  I  would  name  it  here  again  ; — 
"  The  day,  the  hour  is  not  yet  passed,"  said  he, 
In  which  is  coupled  much  of  infamy 


221    WHAT  I  SAW,  HEARD,  AND  THOUGHT. 

With  him,  the  true  and  tried  philanthropist, 
The  scorned,  world-hated  Abolitionist." 
Thanks,  dusky  orator,  those  words  of  thine 
Have  proved  consoling  to  this  soul  of  mine  ;• — 
Then  I  am  not  the  sneaking  coward  I  thought, 
Seeking,  at  this  late  hour,  where  long  have  wrought 
These  earnest,  faithful  laborers  in  the  sun, 
A  tranquil  entrance  when  the  work  is  done ; 
Thanks,  thanks  to  thee !     I  gladly  now  will  share 
Whate'er  of  scorn,  reproach,  'tis  yours  to  bear  ; 
Joying  that  I'm  thought  worthy  with  the  rest, 
To  suffer  and  endure  for  Christ's  oppressed. 

Anon,  another  voice  salutes  my  ear, 
And  Annie  Dickinson's  clear  tones  I  hear  ; 
That  fearless  one,  whose  touching  eloquence 
Has  won  for  her  a  path  to  eminence. 
Both  to  her  sex,  and  to  her  country  true, 
Answering  the  question — "  What  can  woman  do  ?" 
She  closes ;  could  not  found  a  brighter  goal, 
This  feast  of  reason,  and  this  flow  of  soul. 

I  leave  this  scene  with  feelings  of  regret ; 
One  which,  while  life  endures,  I'll  not  forget; 
For,  whate'er  pleasures  yet  my  lot  befall, 
Methinks  I'll  ever  place  above  them  all, 
My  intellectual  feast  in  Concert  Hall. 


FROM  GETTYSBURG. 


"  THERE'S  the  carrier,  Lottie  !  The  news  of  to-day 
lie's  bringing !  Then,  haste,  lay  your  sewing  away, 
And  read  to  me,  darling!  You  know  that  my 

sight 

Is  failing ;  and  since,  in  the  mansions  of  light 
Your  mother  awaits  us ;  and  Edward  has  gone 
A  warrior  for  freedom,  our  home  had  seemed  lone, 
But  for  you,  gentle   daughter,    whose   duties,    well 

borne, 
Have  enlivened  the  gloom  that  it  else   might  have 

worn. 

Then  read  to  me,  darling!  You're  all  I've  left,  now, 
To  smooth  the  deep  furrows  care  leaves  on  my 

brow. 
Have  Yicksburg,  Port  Hudson,  surrendered  ?     And 

say ! — 

How  progresses  the  war  in  the  *  Keystone  '  to-day  ? 

225 


226  FKOM   GETTYSBUEG. 

Is  Lee's  army  vanquish'd  ?     Are  bis  hordes  driven 

back  ? 

Or  are  rebel  invaders  still  scenting  our  track  ? 
You're  silent — you're  pale — does  the  news  give  you 

pain  !"— 

"Dearest  father,  I  fear  brother  Edward  is  slain! 
Here's  his  regiment — name — aye,  'tis  certainly  he ! 
He  was  second  lieutenant  of  Company  C." 
"  Great  Father,  have  pity  ! — My  brave,  noble  boy, 
Once  the  pride  of  my  heart,  once  a  fond  mother's 

joy- 
Is  he  in  the  vigor  of  manhood  laid  low 
By  the  murderous  fire  of  a  traitorous  foe  ? 
Must  he  silently  rest'  neath  the  valley's  cold  clod — 
A  martyr  to  freedom,  to  truth,  and  to  God  ? 
His  mother,  perchance — but,  no  !  I'll  not  say 
What  she  might  have  done,  had  she  lived  till  the 

day 

When  he  asked  for  permission  to  join  in  the  strife 
'Gainst  the  poison — the  bane  of  our  national  life— 
I  fought  under  Perry — then  could  I  forbear 
To  grant  the  consent  that  he  asked  ?     Could  I  dare 
To  restrain  his  young  feet  from  the  path  that  I  trod  ? 
No !  I  gave  him  to  Liberty— gave  him  to  God ! 


FROM   GETTYSBURG-.  227 

My  off 'ring's  accepted  ;  then  why  should  I  crave 
To  possess  it  again  ?     I'll  be  brave  !     I'll  be  brave  ! 
For  us  is  the  suff 'ring,  for  him  the  relief  ! 
Then    how  vain   is   our   sorrow !    how    selfish    our 

grief! 

The  Union  star  brightens — then,  though  he  be  slain, 
His  precious  young  life-blood  was  not  shed  in  vain  ! 
Dear  Lottie,  I'm  trembling — I'm  cold — and  my  sight 
Grows  dim  and  yet  dimmer — a  marvellous  light 
Greets  my  vision  internal — my  wife — and  my  son." — • 
Christ  shield  thee,  young  mourner,  so  fragile   and 

lone! 
Christ  shield  thee,    and   all   who  like    thee   hourly 

mourn 
The    Ibv'd    ones   who've    reach'd    the     mysterious 

bourne ! 
Ah,  well!  'tis  but  brief!     When  life's  burden's  laid 

down, 
The  more  pond'rous  the  cross  the  more  glitt'ring  the 

crown ; 

And  martyrs  for  truth  shall  eternally  stand 
With  the  blood-ransom'd  throng  at  Jehovah's  right 
hand." 


STEENGTH   THKOUGH  ADVEESITY. 

"  Strong  grows  the  oak  in  the  sweeping  storm  ; 

Safely  the  flower  sleeps  under  the  snow ; 
And  the  farmer's  hearth  is  never  Warm, 

Till  the  cold  winds  start  to  blow." 

Holland's  Bitter  Sweet. 


HEIR  to  a  boon  immortal — fellow  heir, 

Some  words  of  kindly  cheer  I'd  proffer  thee ; 
Would  seek  thy  spirit  in  communion,  where 

It  may  seek  mine — in  kindred  sympathy. 
Hast  thou  ne'er  felt,  when  anguish  ruled  the  hour, 

And  life  seem'd  weary,  lonely,  dark,  and  drear ; 
A  want  of  trust  in  an  Omniscient  Power, 

A  vague  uncertainty,  a  nameless  fear, 
A  wav'ring  faith  in  Him,  the  Euler  of  our  sphere  ? 

Stung  with  ingratitude,  in  spirit  crush'd, 

When   foes    have  triumph'd,    and   when    friends 

have  failed ; 

When  vice  o'er  virtue  stood  with  victory  flush'd, 
And  might  'gainst  right  on  ev'ry  side  prevail'd ; 
228 


STKENGTH    THROUGH    ADVERSITY.  229 

When,  one  by  one,  thy  fondest  aims  o'erthrown, 
Each  earthly  hope  and  aspiration  died ; 

Within  thy  heart-depths  hast  thou  never  known 
A  deep'ning  interest  in  the  True  and  Tried  ? 

A  yearning,  yet  a  dread  to  seek  the  Crucfied  ? 

I,  too,  have  trod  that  path  ;  I,  too,  have  felt 

That  inward  shrinking  from  the  dread  unknown  ; 
Yearn'd  for  the  confidence  of  those  who  knelt 

In  humble  faith  before  the  Father's  throne. 
I,  too,  have  falter'd  in  my  pilgrim  course, 

When  life's  frail  bubbles  in  my  grasp  have  broke; 
When  Jove's  just  chastenings  have  wrought  remorse  ; 

And  I  have  bow'd  and  thank'd  Him  for  the  stroke  ; 
Have  found  His  burden  light ;  joy'd  in  His  easy  yoke. 

Have  known  my  faith  grow  strong  amid  the  storm ; 

Have   found  hope's    blossoms    safe    beneatli   the 

snow ; 
Have  felt  my  soul's  recesses  grow  more  warm, 

When  cold  and  adverse  winds  relentless  blow ; 
Freely,  Jehovah  says,  as  ye  receive, 

Freely  dispense  unto  your  fellow-men, 
Such  gifts,  such  blessings  as  can  best  relieve 

The  doubting  spirit  in  its  sojourn,  when, 
A  wanderer  from  home,  it  would  return  again. 
-20 


230  STRENGTH    THROUGH    ADVERSITY. 

And,  as  a  traveller,  who  bewilder'd  treads 

Lone  and  benighted  o'er  an  unknown  way  ; 
When  young  Aurora  her  bright  mantle  spreads, 

Shedding  abroad  the  dawning  light  of  day ; 
Essays  to  cheer  his  fellow  pilgrims  o'er 

The  dangerous  pathway  he  himself  hath  trod  ; — 
Sojourning  traveller  toward  the  peaceful  shore, 

The  pure,  celestial  city  of  our  God — • 
So  would  I  solace  thee  in  the  dark  path  I've  trod. 

Dost  thou  e'er  tremble  when  the  pall,  the  bier 

Wake  in  thy  bosom  visions  of  the  hour 
That  brings  to  thee  the  end  of  all  things  here  ? 

When  in  the  presence  of  unerring  Power 
Thy  soul  shall  stand,  'reft  of  its  earthly  clay  ? — 

Tremble  no  more  !     'Tis  better  far  for  thee, 
When  dawns  at  last  that  sure  and  final  day, 

At  a  Divine  than  human  bar  to  be;— 
Judged  by  a  Sov'reign,  just,  and  full  of  sympathy. 

That  Sov'reign  knows  the  willing  spirit's  strife, 
When  the  weak  flesh  would  bid  that  spirit  stray  ; 

Directs  its  upward  course  from  death  to  life, 
And  guides  its  progress  in  the  narrow  way  ; 


STRENGTH    THROUGH   ADVERSITY;  231 

And  He  will  lead  that  willing  spirit  forth, 

When  transient  earthly  scenes  dissolve  from  sight ; 

Freely  vouchsafe  the  measure  of  its  worth, 
And  merge  in  glory  of  celestial  light 

The  darkness  that  so  oft  hath   glooin'd  oar   mental 
night. 

And  there  is  darkness  brooding  o'er  our  land  ; 

A  darkness  that  oft  threatens  to  o'er  whelm ; 
A  darkness  that  its  fearful  reign  began, 

Almost  coeval  with  our  infant  realm  ; 
Its  shades,  extending  with  our  nation's  growth, 

Threw  'round  her  vitals  a  resistless  spell ; 
To  yield  its  hideous  power  seern'd  ever  loath  ; 

At  Sumter  sought  to  toll  her  funeral  knell, 
And  more  portentous  grew  when  brave  young  Ells- 
worth fell. 

Its  shadows  broaden'd  ;  and  its  haughty  crest 

Eose  high  ;  when,  marshalling  his  valiant  train, 
The  "lion-hearted"  champion  of  the  West 

Yielded  his  life  on  Springfield's  battle-plain. 
It  drap'd  our  Senate-halls  in  deepest  gloom ; 

It  hush'd  therein  a  voice  of  eloquence ; 
And  oped  again  the  portals  of  the  tomb, 

When  Broderick's  eulogist  was  surnmon'd  hence, 
Sharing  alike  a  nation's  love  and  confidence. 


232  STRENGTH    THROUGH    ADVERSITY. 

Its  pall  grows  blacker  as  we  journey  on 

Through  the  Eed  Sea  of  fratricidal  blood  ; 
As  our  best,  noblest  patriots,  one  by  one, 

From  their  heart-fountains  swell  the  crimson  flood. 
But  has  this  darkness,  have  these  adverse  gales, 

These  dire  Aceldamas  throughout  our  land 
Our  inner  life  impair'd  ?     As  each  assails, 

Do  we  grow  strong  when  we  as  victors  stand  ? 
Or  when  some   rude  repulse   has   met  our  warrior 
band  ? 

Did  we  gain  strength  when  Burnside's  gallant  corps 

The  serried  ranks  of  traitorous  New  Berne  broke  ? 
Or  mark'd  our  cherish'd  colors  floating  o'er 

The  sea-girt  shores  of  rebel  Eoanoke  ? 
Did  we  gain  strength  when  Donelson's  dread  scenes 

Echoed  glad  shouts  on  its  redemption  day  ? 
Did  we  gain  strength  when  crescent  New  Orleans 

Almost  resistless  yielded  to  our  sway, 
And  the  glad  tidings  sped  upon  their  joyous  way  ? 

Ah,  no!  relying  on  an  arm  of  flesh, 

Proud  "  Worldly  Wisdom  "  then  presumed  to  see 
Our  martial  thousands  soon  returning  fresh 

From  battle-fields  elate  with  victory. 


STRENGTH    THROUGH   ADVERSITY.  233 

« 

Visions  of  a  re-union  like  the  past, 

Danc'd,  gaily  danc'd  before  enamor'd  eyes  ; 

Peace  on  a  basis  that  could  never  last ; 
A  retrograde ;  a  cowardly  compromise 

'Gainst  liberty,  that  boon  all  honest  patriots  prize. 

'Tvvas  not  in  hours  like  these  we  stronger  grew  ; 

For  then  the  Tempter  was  alluring  us 
To  substitute  the  old  wine  for  the  new  ; 

Error  for  truth  ;  and  sin  for  righteousness. 
'Twas   when,  o'er  whelmed   by  Richmond's  crimson 
tide, 

Our  decimated  army  sought  retreat ; 
When,  dauntless  still,  they  to  Antietam  hied, 

A  desperate,  aggressive  foe  to  meet, 
'Mid  scenes  with  carnage,  woe,  and  misery  replete. 

When  once  again  Manassas'  bloody  ground 

Was  fiercely  trod  by  a  contending  host ; 
When  once  again  the  cannon's  booming  sound 

Proclaim'd  the  fearful  truth — "  a  battle  lost !" 
When  death,  disaster,  on  all  sides  appall, 

And  loyal  bosoms  were  by  anguish  torn ; 
When  suffering  wounded  to  our  Capitol, 

Mangled  and  bleeding,  were  by  hundreds  borne — 

Then  came  our  strength ;  dawn'd  our  salvation  morn. 
20* 


234  STRENGTH    THROUGH    ADVERSITY. 

'Tvvas  then,  and  not  till  then,  our  Chieftain  dar'd 

To  issue  that  Immortal  Document, 
For  whose  existence  anxious  hearts  have  shar'd 

In  fervent  prayer;  and  whose  wise  intent 
Stood  forth  confess'd ;  for  then  the  nation's  soul 

Kous'd  from  its  morbid  dreams  and  lethargy, 
No  longer  striving  'gainst  Divine  control, 

Echoed  His  fiat — "  Make  my.  people  free ; — 
What   you    would   share,    grant   all — the    boon  of 
liberty  !" 

Heir  to  a  life  eternal — fellow-heir, 

'Tis  thus  our  Pilot  would  conduct  us  home ; 
"Pis  thus  He  seeks  to  lead  through  faith  and  praver, 

Unto  the  Father's  house,  whence  we  would  roam  ; 
When  Gospel  truth,  when  blessings  fail  to  win 

The  wayward  child  or  nation  that  He  loves, 
'Mid  Sinai's  thunders,  'mid  contention's  din, 

These  signal  benedictions  He  removes ; 
And  thus,  through  adverse  storms,  our  frail  depend- 
ence proves. 

Then  let  us  trust  Him ;  howe'er  dark  the  hour 
In  which  our  trembling,  fainting  faith  He  tries; 

Howe'er  portentous  be  the  clouds  that  lower 
Above  our  heads;  the  greater  sacrifice 


STRENGTH    THROUGH    ADVERSITY.  235 

We  yield  to  Him,  the  greater  the  reward  ; 

And  though  to  us  His  ways  seem  mystery, 
And  with  our  futile  schemes  but  ill  accord, 

Let  us  take  courage ;  well  assured  that  He 
Will  grant  us  grace  and  strength  through  our  ad- 
versity. 


NOT  RETURNED. 


His  regiment  returns  to-day,   they  told  me  so  last 

night, 
Who  joy  to  welcome  back  again  the  vet'rans  of  the 

fight; 
In  accents   hushed  they  made  it  known,  the  cause  if 

you  would  learn, 
His  regiment  returns  to-day,  but  he  does  not  return. 

It  seems  to  me  but  yesterday,  so  swift   time's  flight 

has  been, 
We  trod  life's  pathway  hand  and  hand,  he  ten  and  I 

fifteen ; 
He  was  my  all ;  for  ere  those  days  there  came  a  time 

of  tears, 
When  death  removed,  from  earthly  scenes,  our  stay 

in  earlier  years. 

236 


NOT    RETURNED.  237 

And  mother  kissed  her  Gabriel,  and  father  blessed 

his  boy, 
And  bade  me  to  protect  through  life  our  household 

pride  and  joy ; 
How  swiftly  he  to  manhood  grew !     How  brightly 

shone  that  mind  ! 
Brightly  as  only  beam  the  souls  so  soon  for  Heaven 

designed. 

My  pride,   my  joy,   my  fondest    hopes  around   him 

fondly  clung — 
God  pardon  if  the  homage  due  to  Him  the  creature 

won ! — 
Then  came  to  us  and  thousands  more,  another  time 

of  tears, 
When  ploughshares  unto  swords  were  turned,  and 

pruning  hooks  to  spears. 

Men  left  the  anvil  and  the  loom,  the  homestead  hearth 

and  all 
That  rendered  life  most  dear  to  them,  to  heed  their 

country's  call ; 
My  idol  stood  among  those   men  on  that  eventful 

day, 
Dear  as  he  was,  and  young  in  years,  I  would  not  bid 

him  stay. 


238  NOT    EETUKNED. 

I  buckled  on  his  sword-belt,  with  a  cold  and  nerve- 
less hand, 

And  saw  him  proudly  march  away,  one  of  a  valiant 
band ; 

Then  turned  me  with  an  aching  heart  from  that  dread 
scene  away, 

Feeling  that  nought  was  left  me  now,  save  but  to 
weep  and  pray. 

Time  passed ;  the  war-cloud,   rolling  on,  still  dark, 

and  darker  grew ; 
Drenching  our  soil  with  precious  blood  of  loyal,  tried 

and  true; 
While  he,  unscathed  as  yet  by  harm,  stood  firmly  at 

his  post, 
Yowing  that  he'd  desert  it  not,  whate'er  might  be  the 

cost. 

And  I,  how  eagerly  I  read  the  news  each  battle  gave, 
Bringing   my  anxious  cares  to   Him,  whose  power 

alone  can  save ; 
And  then,  as  victory  seemed  more  near,  oh,  how  my 

spirit  yearned 
To  welcome  back  my  darling,  when  his  regiment  re 

turned. 


NOT    RETURNED.  239 

That  welcome  I  may  never  give :  but  in  the  future 
dim 

My  cherished  one  shall  welcome  me,  when  I  shall  go 
to  him  ; 

The  cause  is  known ;  the  story  sad  I  scarcely  need  to 
tell— 

You'll  learn  it  from  the  mournful  words — at  Wilder- 
ness he  fell. 

And  stranger  hands  have  buried  him  upon  a  stran- 
ger's soil — 
In  an  unnoticed  grave  he  sleeps,  free  from  all  earthly 

toil- 
While  deep  into  my  throbbing   heart  these  scathing 

words  still  burn — 
His  regiment  returns  to-day,  but  he  does  not  return. 

Sad  record — one  by  millions  borne — and  millions  yet 
to  be, 

Will  ponder  oft  those  records  o'ef1  in  grateful  sympa- 
thy ; 

In  sympathy  for  stricken  hearts,  that  oft  in  secret 
yearn 

To  greet  their  war-slain  patriots,  that  never  more 
return. 


OUE    NATION'S    GEIEF. 

"  Oh,  watch  you  well,  by  daylight, 
By  daylight  you  may  fear  ; 

But  keep  no  watch  in  darkness, 
For  angels  then  are  near." 


DAYLIGHT  and  darkness — How  they  mingle  here, 

To  soothe  our  grief,  or  mitigate  our  joy  ! 
'Luring  us  onward  toward  that  purer  sphere 

Of  hallowed  bliss,  unmixed  with  an  alloy. 
Daylight  and  darkness — They  have  come  to  us 

In  all  their  force  of  brightness  or  of  gloom  ; 
Mingling  the  day-dawn's  brilliant  radiance 

With  all  the  sombre  shadows  of  the  tomb. 

Daylight — How  flashed  its  fair,  auroral  star ! 

Brighter  and  more  resplendent  burned  its  rays ! 
Though  rendered  lurid  by  the  smoke  of  war, 

Men  blessed  its  dawn  and  gave  to  God  the  praise. 
240 


OUR  NATION'S   GRIEF.  241 

Tli at  dawn  was  darkened  by  one  cloud,  alone  ; 

One  only  shadow  did  its  glories  wear — 
Sorrow  for  cherished  ones  forever  gone — 

And  that,  long  since,  we'd  nerved  ourselves  to  bear. 

Then  came  the  darkness — Ah,  how  swift  it  came  ! 

Like  thunderbolt  from  cloudless  zenith  sped 
The     startling    message — "Our    loved     Chieftain's 
slain ! 

By  an  assassin's  hand  his  blood  was  shed. 
Kescued  from  murd'rous  hands,  our  Premier  lies, 

Maimed  and  disabled,  on  a  bed  of  pain" — 
Can  Freedom  still  demand  such  sacrifice, 

Where  human  blood  has  deluged  hill  and  plain  ? 

" '  Tis  false  !" — Thus  argued  Faith  in  tones  sublime, 

While  struggling  Hope  essayed  her  cause  to  plead — 
"  E'en  Treason  could  not  perpetrate  such  crime," 

E'en  Slavery's  champions  prompt  so  foul  a  deed. 
Alas  !  alas !  Our  faith  and  hope,  how  vain  ! 

Once  more  the  fluid  o'er  the  wires  is  sped, 
And  anxious,  breathless  millions  hear  again 

The   mournful   tidings — "  Our    loved    Chieftain's 
dead  !" 
21 


242  OUR  NATION'S  GKIEF. 

Upon  that  signal  morn  the  sun  arose, 

In  gorgeous  splendor,  like  some  monarch  proud ; 
Struggled  a  while  his  glories  to  disclose, 

Then  veiled  his  face  behind  each  weeping  cloud. 
And  why  was  this  ?     'Twas  Nature's  sympathy ! 

Her  pity  for  the  aching  hearts  that  bled ; 
Her  sorrow  for  that  untold  agony — 

A  nation  mourning  for  her  martyred  dead. 

Dead  ?     Dare  we  say  it  ?     When,  from  ages  past, 

An  echoing  voice  resounds  from  shore  to  shore— 
Though  Error,  thwarted  thus,  would  shrink  aghast, 

Eternal  Truth  shall  live  forevermore  ! 
Eternal  Truth  none  have  the  power  to  slay  ! 

He  lives  and  reigns  e'en  in  a  world  like  this  ! 
Where  base  Iscariots  heartlessly  betray 

Their  Lord  and  Master  with  a  traitor  kiss. 

Men  thought  they  slew  Him,  when,  by  Jewish  law 

Scourged  before  Pilate,  He  condemned  stood ; 
When  from  the  foot  of  Calvary  they  saw 

The  last  death  agony,  the  crimson  flood. 
Men  thought  they  slew  Him  in  that  horrid  scene 

Enacted  on  Virginia's  scaffold  high, 
When  Harper's  Ferry's  hero  hung  between 

The  snow-enshrouded  earth  and  vaulted  sky. 


OUR  NATION'S  GRIEF.  243 

Men  thought  they  slew  Him  at  our  capital, 

Where    glaring    lights   and  dazzling  scenes  did 

blend ; 
And  sympathizing  hundreds  gazed  appalled, 

Yearning  to  save,  yet  powerless  to  defend. 
But  vain  their  efforts  all !     That  Power  Divine, 

Triumphant  evermore  o'er  all  His  foes, 
When    crushed  the  casket  which   that  Power    en- 
shrined, 

Has,  Phoenix-like,  from  out  its  ashes  rose. 

Then,  while  we  mourn,  as  nation  never  mourn'd, 

The  fate  of  one  in  whom  we've  learn'd  to  trust, 
Whose  soul  has  passed  beyond  the  mystic  bourne, 

Whose  dust  now  mingles  with  its  kindred  dust, 
Let  this  blest  thought  our  drooping  spirits  cheer, 

And  to  those  spirits  consolation  give — 
Though  he  has  closed  on  earth  his  just  career, 

In  the  good  deeds  he  wrought  he  still  doth  live. 

And  if  another  martyr  yet  must  fall 

To  save  our  bleeding  country,  there  was  none 

More  ready  to  respond  unto  that  call, 

More  worthy  to  receive  his  God's  "  well  done!" 


244  OUK  NATION'S  GRIEF. 

Ours  is  the  loss,  his  th'  eternal  gain 

The  bliss,  enfranchised  spirits  know  above  ; 

For  us  the  darkness — the  sad  funeral  train ; 
For  him  triumphant  joy  'mid  light  and  love. 

Disposer  of  events,  hear  Thou  our  prayer  ! 

A  suff  'ring  nation  turns  in  tears  to  Thee  1 
Thou  who  dost  deign  the  mourner's  grief  to  share, 

Henceforth  from  blood-stain  make  that  nation  free  ! 
May  he  whom  Thy  mysterious  Providence 

Has  made  our  leader  in  this  signal  hour, 
As  firmly  lean  on  Thy  Omnipotence, 

As  him  we  mourn,  when  threat'ning  clouds  shall 
lower ! 

Chasten'd,  but  not  dishearten'd  we  have  grown, 

Feeling  that,  but  for  this  sad  tragedy, 
Our  nation's  history  had  never  known 

The  crowning  point  of  its  sublimity. 
Thus,  of  that  nation's  worth  a  conscious  pride 

Is  strangely  mingling  with  the  tears  we  shed — 
Through  keenest  suff 'ring  we  are  purified— 

Peace  to  the  memory  of  our  righteous  dead ! 


IMMORTALS. 


IMMOKTALS  !     Who  are  they  ? 
The  'franchisee!  beings  of  the  Spirit  land  ? 

Or  those  who,  cambered  with  their  cumbrous  clay, 
Still  in  probation  tread  this  nether  sphere, 
Or,  alternating  between  hope  and  fear, 

On  its  eternal  confines  waiting  stand  ? 

Aye,  all  of  these  !     I'd  dare 
Not  to  oppose  the  doctrines  of  philosopher  or  sage 

Who  cope  the  subtle  dogmas  of  Voltaire ; 
Who,  to  o'erthrow  the  creeds  such  dogmas  wrought, 
Their  untired  efforts  to  the  contest  brought, 

In  deeds  recorded  upon  history's  page. 

I'd  not  presume  to  give 
The  flutt'ring,  struggling,  clay-imprisoned  soul, 

A  surer  evidence  that  it  shall  live 
In  the  hereafter,  than  itself  hath  known, 
When,  mindful  of  its  weakness,  at  the  throne 

It  seeks  for  strength  to  reach  its  destined  goal. 
21*  245 


2  ±6  IMMORTALS. 

For  he  who  e'er  hath  felt 
The  calm  impress  that  spirit  doth  receive 

In  such  communioD,  or  hath  ever  dwelt 
Upon  its  earnest  strivings  for  the  right, 
Its  aspirations  for  unclouded  light, 

Knows  of  that  life,  and,  knowing,  must  believe. 

Mine  is  a  different  task; 
To  point  to  those  beyond  the  mystic  tide, 

Whose  untold  glories,  hidden  by  the  mask 
Of  envy,  prejudice,  obscurity, 
Dreamed  not  of  thanks  from  millions  yet  to  be, 

While  in  the  martyr's  ranks  they  nobly  died. 

Or  those  who  yet  in  life 
Tread  humbly  their  allotted  pathway  here  ; 

Or,  calmly  gazing  on  the  useless  strife 
For  fame  and  power,  seek  but  themselves  to  know 
The  duties  God  apportions  them  below, 

And  to  perform  them,  faithful,  without  fear. 

Eome  had  her  heroes  ;  Greece, 
Assyria,  Carthage,  Sparta,  all  had  theirs  ; 
The  olden  world,  whether  in  war  or  peace. 


IMMORTALS.  247 

Boasts  her  immortals— spirits  brave  and  bright — 
Making  the  onward  course  of  truth  and  right 
The  constant  burden  of  their  ceaseless  prayers. 

Peace,  honor  to  their  dust ! 
Not  rightfully  alone  belong  to  these 

My  poor  laudations ;   they  are  held  in  trust 
Within  their  native  climes;  where  voices  raise 
And  grateful  hearts  accord  to  giving  praise 

In  swelling  paeans  far  beyond  the  seas. 

Columbia,  my  own 
Belov'd  country,  turn  I  unto  thee ; 

Proud    of    my   birth-right;    proud    that   I   have 

known 

A  heritage  beneath  thy  skies ;  can  claim 
A  sisterhood  with  those  whose  constant  aim 

Was  virtue — freemen,  whom  truth  made  free. 

Columbia !     With  thy 
Name  come  memories  of  one,  born 

Long  ago  beneath  Italia's  sky ; 
To  whose  great  spirit  there  had  been  revealed 
A  mighty  scheme  ;  doomed  long  to  be  concealed, 

Ere  it  in  glory  hailed  its  triumph  morn. 


248  IMMORTALS. 

For  eighteen  years  be  sought 
For  recognition  ;  waited,  hoped,  and  prayed ; 

Then  came  an  answer;  such  as  to  him  brought 
Means  meager,  but  such  means  as  seemed  to  him 
A  welcome  beacon,  howsoever  dim, 

Cheering  him  onward  by  the  light  it  shed. 


Then  followed  fame,  success, 
Hatred,  reproach,  and  e'en  the  dungeon-cell, 

For  then,  as  now,  the  noblest  souls  claimed  less 
Of  earthly  homage  than  the  baser  kind  ; 
To  such,  the  impartial  future  has  assigned 

Proud  monuments  that  shall  their  goodness  tell. 

It  was  not  his  to  see 
The  friendly  Banian  planted  on  the  strand 

He  well  might  call  his  own ;  nor  yet  the  tree — 
The  deadly  Upas — by  that  Banian's  side, 
Diffusing,  in  an  ever-flowing  tide, 

Its  fatal  poison  upon  every  hand. 

It  was  not  his  on  earth 
To  mark  that  startling  scene,  nor  those 
Which  followed;  nor  to  know  the  worth, 


IMMORTALS.  249 

Of  each  convulsion  ;  but  if  clayless  souls, 
Foreseeing  all  things  from  their  sinless  goals, 
Know  well  the  meaning  of  such  fearful  throes, 

Then  let  us  hope  that  his 
Has  shared  with  us  the  sorrow  and  the  joy, 

The  danger  and  the  triumph ;  for  his  bliss 
Must  sure  be  purer  near  the  "  great  white  throne," 
If  through  this  conflict  he  hath  seen  and  known 

All  of  the  triumph,  free  from  doubt's  alloy. 

The  noble  spirits  reared 
Upon  his  soil  for  the  great  contest  stern — 

Unmoved,  unwavering,  as  that  contest  neared, 
Some  but  with  spiritual  weapons  armed — 
Others  with  carnal — cairn  and  unalarmed. 

Though  hate's  red  fires  around  their  pathway  burn. 

And  as  the  war-cloud  lowered, 
The  mighty  revolutions  that  it  wrought — 

The  world's  pet  heroes  sunk  to  craven  cowards — 
Her  chosen  cravens  raised  to  heroes  true, 
Proving,  as  nearer  their  great  triumph  drew, 

Full  worthy  of  the  cause  for  which  they  fought. 


250  IMMOETALS. 

But  more  I  need  not  tell 
Of  those  whom  freedom  ever  shall  revere ; 

How  nobly  in  her  sacred  cause  they  fell  ; 
Some  leaving  honored  names  on  fame's  bright  scroll ; 
Others  whose  records  she  may  ne'er  enroll, 

Immortal  in  the  hearts  that  loved  them  here. 

Nor  yet  that  other  scene — 
The  dazzling  brightness  followed  by  deep  gloom ; 

When  he,  our  Chief — our  modern  Nazarene — 
In  the  proud  acme  of  his  glory  fell, 
A  martyr  to  the  truth  he  loved  so  well, 

To  nil  henceforth  a  nation-rev'renc'd  tomb. 

Oh,  'twas  a  sight  sublime — 
The  sorrowing  millions  in  that  funeral  train— 

The  dusky  millions  who'll  revere,  through  time, 
The  deathless  name  of  him  who  cared  for  them — 
The  brightest  jewels  in  his  diadem 

The  tears  they  shed  o'er  their  deliverer  slain. 

We  who  have,  side  by  side, 

Marked  the  fierce  strife  of  darkness  with  the  light, 
Arid  light's  eventual  triumph — what  just  pride 


IMMORTALS.  251 

We  thus  have  shared  ;   when,  mingling  oft  our  tears 
O'er  our  immortals — fallen  in  those  years 
Of  gloom  and  terror — sacrificed  to  right. 

In  minor  points  we  may 
Agree  to  differ;  but  in  this  we  should  — 

We  must  united  stand  for  aye  ! 
Freedom  demands  it— spirits  of  our  slain 
Bind  us  together  in  one  rendless  chain — 

One  common  bond,  cemented  by  their  blood! 

And  of  the  laurels  green, 
That  one  by  one  have  twined  around  the  brow 

Of  her,  our  mother  country — none  more  bright 

shall  be, 

Than  those  which  shall  thereon  ere  long  appear, 
With  the  proud  monuments  which  she  shall  rear 

To  her  immortals  and  to  liberty. 

Then  let  them,  let  them  rise ! 
To  be  henceforth  a  sacred  Mecca  shrine 

To  our  successors  ;  and  as  their  young  eyes 
Gaze  on  them,  let  them  teach  to  them  the  truth 
That  life  is  nought — nought  e'en  to  buoyant  youth 

When  duty's  call  bids  us  that  life  resign. 


252  IMMORTALS. 

And  we  who  still  survive — 
To  whom  this  glorious  work  seems  but  begun — 

In  honor  to  our  dead,  let  us  e'er  strive 
All  truth  to  raise,  all  error  to  subdue, 
Claiming  alike  for  ever  grade  and  hue, 

Social  and  civil  rights  till  victory's  won. 

All  help  is  from  on  high  ; 
And  in  the  scales  of  justice  no  false  weight 

Ere  yet  was  found — then,  though  we  sigh 
Each  day  o'er  wavering  trust  in  human  power, 
So  prone  to  fail  us  in  some  signal  hour 

'Twill  teach  this  lesson — God  alone  is  great. 

May  He  whose  hand  Divine 
Has  led  us  through  this  labyrinthian  wild 

Thus  far  in  safety,  aid  us  to  resign 
Each  grievous  error  for  the  common  good — 
Granting  a  nation,  cleansed  by  human  blood, 

A  lasting  peace — all  pure  and  undeh'led. 


OUE    ENSIGN. 

*'  0  Flag,  beloved  in  better  years, 
0  Flag,  baptized  in  blood  and  tears, 
0  Flag,  more  sacred  for  your  cost, 
We  love  you  better  for  our  lost.' 


HERE,  beneath  the  oak  tree  sitting, 

Gaze  I  on  the  distant  town ; 
Gaze  I  on  the  varied  landscape 

From  the  hill-side  sloping  down, 
Clad  in  drapery  of  em'rald, 

Crimson,  gold,  and  oaken  brown, 
'Neath  yon  vaulting  arch  of  ether, 

Wearing  its  autumnal  crown. 

Sluggishly  the  Appomattox 
Winds  along  its  destined  way  ; 

Glimmering  in  the  effulgence 
Of  the  royal  "  king  of  day  ;" 

22  253 


254  OUR   ENSIGN1. 

Or  reflecting  from  its  surface 
Cloudlets,  floating  far  away — 

Golden  clouds,  and  clouds  of  purple, 
Leaden  clouds,  and  ashen  gray. 

Gracefully  beneath  yon  tree -tops 
Mark  our  country's  ensign  wave  ! 

Proudly  proff  'ring  its  protection 

*•  To  the  loyal,  true  and  brave ; 

Flattering  there  as  others  flutter 
Over  many  a  martyr's  grave  ; 

Bearing  far  aloft  the  colors 
Of  the  land  they  died  to  save. 

Mingled  shades  of  white  and  crimson, 

Shades  of  azure,  glowing  bright 
Over  all  its  heaven-hued  surface 

With  its  stars  of  silvery  white ; 
Truth  and  purity  combining, 

Emblem  of  the  might  with  right. 
Emblem  of  the  good,  the  holy, 

Blood-redeemed  from  error's  blight. 

And  I  think,  while  thus  I'm  gazing — 
Flag  of  freedom,  floating  free — 

Musing  sadly  on  the  suff 'rings 
Of  the  hosts  that  died  for  thee, 


OUR   ENSIGN.  255 

What  such  sacrifice  availeth  ? 

When,  throughout  our  land,  we  see 
Evil's  allies,  plotting  blindly 

'Gainst  the  cause  of  liberty. 

And  my  spirit  breathes  a  prayer 

For  the  good,  the  pure,  the  true ; 
For  the  triumph,  aye  and  ever, 

Of  the-  red,  the  white,  the  blue ; 
For  its  all-impartial  shelter 

Unto  every  grade  and  hue  ; 
Unto  sons  whose  sable  fathers 

In  its  own  defence  were  true. 

And  as  daily  here  I'm  toiling 

'Mid  a  long-degraded  band, 
'Mid  a  race  as  dark  and  dusky 

As  the  hosts  on  India's  strand, 
Brought  by  cruel  force  amongst  us,  * 

From  their  distant  father-land, 
Oft  I  query — when  will  justice 

Come  to  them  from  God's  right  hand? 

Patience,  soul  1     That  prayers  answer 

Follows  duly  in  the  train 
Of  truth's  triumphs ;  faithful,  hopeful, 

Breathe  that  prayer  once  again  ! 


256  OUR   ENSIGN. 

Justice,  mercy,  peace,  and  freedom, 
For  their  cause  was  Jesus  slain — 

Christ  doth  reign,  and  since  He  reigneth, 
All  He  loveth,  too,  shall  reign. 

Farmville,  Va.}  October,  1867. 


GATHERED  TO  HIS  FATHERS. 

"  There  is  no  flock  however  watched  and  tended, 

But  one  dead  lamb  is  there  ; 
There  is  no  fireside,  howsoe'er  defended, 

But  hath  one  vacant  chair." — II.  W.  Longfellow. 


PICTURES  within  the  realms  of  thought 
Are  traced  by  memory's  hand  ; 

And  vividly  their  scenes  are  wrought 
With  talismanic  wand. 

Most  prominent  among  them  now, 

Upon  the  canvass  glow, 
Two  scenes  it  was  my  lot  to  view, 

Not  yet  twelve  months  ago. 

The  first  of  these,  an  "old  arm-chair," 

Fill'd  by  an  aged  form, 
That  oft  had  sway'd  amid  the  winds 

Of  life's  relentless  storm. 

22*  257 


258        GATHERED  TO  HIS  FATHERS. 

A  face  with  kindly  smile  for  all, 

A  head  of  silvery  hair; 
While  voices  full  of  childish  mirth, 

Mingle  their  cadence  there. 

They  cluster  'round  the  "  old  arm-chair," 
They  climb  the  envied  knee ; 

Impatient  each  fond  kiss  to  share, 
In  innocence  and  glee 


The  scene  has  changed — the  snowy  shroud, 

The  coffin  and  the  bier, 
'Mid  solemn,  sad  funereal  rites, 

Successively  appear. 

Vacant  now  stands  the  old  arm-chair, 
While  childhood  seeks,  in  vain, 

For  th'  endeared  form  'twill  ne'er 
On  earth  behold  again. 

A  grassy  grave  near  a  rural  grove, 

Where  zephyrs  gently  sigh  ; 
And  a  name  upon  a  plain  white  stone, 

Meets  the  gaze  of  the  passer-by  ; 


GATHERED  TO  HIS  FATHERS.        259 

Is  all  that  remains  of  that  ripen'd  shock, 

The  Father  hath  gather'd  home  ; 
Safe  from  each  chilling  blast  that  blows, 

Each  tempest  that  yet  may  come. 

These  warlike  times  were  not  for  him  ; 

For  his  was  a  life  of  love  ; 
And  he  fled  these  bloody  scenes  below, 

For  more  peaceful  scenes  above. 

Then  let  him  rest  near  that  rural  grove, 

Where  the  zephyrs  gently  sigh ; 
And  his  loved  name  on  the  plain  white  stone, 

Meets  the  gaze  of  the  passer-by. 

For  the  passer-by  who  knew  him  best, 
When  this  earthly  sphere  he  trod, 

Could  but  read  in  that  name — "An  honest  man 
Is  the  noblest  work  of  God.' ' 


ONE   YEAE  IN  THE   SPIKIT-LAND. 

WRITTEN    ON     THE     FIRST    ANNIVERSARY    OF     THE     DEATH 
OF    A   FRIEND. 


ONE  year  in  the  spirit-land, 

The  land  of  the  pure  and  fair  ; 
One  year  on  the  star-gemmed  strand, 

'Mid  the  bright- winged  seraphs  there  ; 
One  year  by  the  crystal  fount 

That  flows  from  the  throne  of  God  ; 
One  year  near  the  holy  mount 

Only  by  angels  trod  ; 
One  year  in  the  golden  streets 

Of  that  perfect  and  sinless  sphere, 
Hast  thou  revelled  'mid  heavenly  sweets, 

While  I  have  been  toiling  here. 

Tell  me,  enfranchised  soul, 

In  celestial  bliss  secure, 
Art  thou  at  thy  shining  goal 

Becoming  each  day  more  pure  ? 
2GO 


ONE   YEAR   IN   THE    SPIRIT   LAND.  261 

When  my  spirit,  from  earth-cares  flown, 

Seeks  thine  in  those  regions  fair, 
Shall  each  by  the  other  be  known, 

And  loved  as  'mid  worldly  care? 
Or  hast  thou,  through  bewildering  joys, 

So  advanced  on  thy  heavenly  way, 
That  I,  amid  earthly  cloys, 

May  not  hope  for  that  rapturous  day? 

To  my  mental  ear  doth  come 

A  reply  ; — It  is  thine,  I  ween, 
Though  I  in  pure  regions  roam, 

And  thou  in  a  world  of  sin ; 
In  that  future,  auspicious  hour, 

W.hen  thou  from  that  world  art  free, 
The  unfailing,  all-cleansing  Power 

Thy  spirit  shall  guide  to  me :" 
Father,  "  thy  will  be  done  !" 

That  fainting  spirit  saith  ; 
Till  that  shining  goal  be  won 

Strengthen  my  hope  and  faith. 


GOING   TO   TUB   SPEINGS. 


DUST,  dust  fills  the  air  like  a  vapor, 

In  the  highways  of  fashion  and  trade; 
And  the  mercury,  ranging  toward  blood-heat 

By  Fahrenheit,  stands  in  the  shade. 
Trunks,  valises,  band-boxes,  portmanteaus, 

Are  pack'd  till  they  almost  o'er  flow  ; 
And  the  Cowperthwaites,  Courtneys,  and  Chestons, 

Are  in  haste  toward  the  wharves  seen  to  go. 
"  Whither  now  ?"  cries  a  'wilder'd  spectator — 

"  What  is  it  this  retinue  brings, 
Thus  crowding  our  wharves  and  our  steamboats  ?" 

'Tis  responded — "They're  going  to  the  Springs  1 

"  To  the  Springs,  to  be  crowded  and  jostled, 
And  tortur'd  by  Fashion's  restraint  ? 

To  compete  with  each  other  in  flirting, 
Or  who  can  most  gracefully  faint  ? 

To  the  Springs  to  be  stung  by  mosquitoes 
At  night,  and  by  gnats  through  the  day  ? 
202 


GOING   TO    THE  SPKINGS.  263 

To  the  Springs,  where  for  each  inconvenience 
You're  expected  to  handsomely  pay  ? 

Why  not  seek  at  once  some  quaint  farm-house, 
Whose  quiet  rusticity  brings 

Untrammell'd,  the  comforts  you're  needing? 
'T would  be  cheaper  than  going  to  the  Springs." 

"Aye,  there  is  the  rub,1'  my  good  fellow, 

Such  comforts,  we  very  well  know, 
Can  always  be  had  for  a  trifle ; 

But  'tis  there  all  the  common  folks  go. 
The  Mudlarks,  the  Popham's  and  Drewsters, 

Can  seek  such  resorts  when  they  please ; 
Would  you  dare  to  insult  us  by  making 

Us  equal  to  people  like  these  ? 
No  !  rather  each  costly  annoyance 

Let  us  have  !     Though  our  money  has  wings, 
While  it  lasts,  we  must  keep  up  appearance, 

And  persist  still  in  going  to  the  Springs. 

There  are Jieart-aches  in  yon  spacious  mansion; 

There  are  debts  by  its  inmates  unpaid  ; 
There  are  battles,  hard  battles  with  fortune, 

Through  dread  of  yet  being  betray'd. 
Too  poor  to  compete  with  rich  neighbors, 

Too  proud  to  acknowledge  defeat, 


264  GOING    TO   THE   SPRINGS. 

Defrauding  the  honest  of  payments 
They're  always  unable  to  meet, 

They  are  sinfully,  madly  pursuing 
A  course  that  remorse  ever  brings  ; 

And,  too  cowardly  to  brave  an  exposure, 
Are  recklessly  going  to  the  Springs. 

Did  you  hear  that  loud  laugh  of  defiance  ? 

Did  you  mark  that  still  beauteous  face  ? 
Still  beauteous  ;  though  dire  Dissipation 

Has  left  there  his  ruinous  trace. 
She  is  the  lost  child  of  a  bankrupt, 

Once  left  without  money  or  home  ; 
A  victim  of  false  education, 

On  the  broad  road  of  ruin  to  roam  ; 
Despising  all  honest  employment, 

Or  the  peaceful  reward  that  it  brings, 
She  is  foil'd  in  the  snares  of  the  Tempter, 

And  recklessly  going  to  the  Springs. 

Thus,  thus  upon  Life's  dusty  highway, 
The  victims  of  folly  and  pride, 

By  hundreds  and  thousands  are  thronging, 
Regardless  of  what  shall  betide. 

Whenever  we  yield  thus  to  Fashion, 
And  sacrifice  all  to  appear 


GOING   TO   THE   SPRINGS.  265 

On  a  par  with  aristocrat  neighbors, 

A  cringer  to  favor  and  fear, 
We  daily  and  hourly  are  treading 

A  path  that  disaster  e'er  brings ; 
And  like  Cowperthwaites,  Courtneys,  and  Chestons 

Are  foolishly  going  to  the  Springs. 

Dupes,  dupes  of  aristocrat  folly 

Are  thronging  our  nation's  highway  ; 
Each  year  they've  grown  stronger  and  stronger, 

Each  year  have  extended  their  sway. 
In  vain  has  Democracy  striven 

That  rule  and  that  sway  to  restrain  ; 
Those  haughty  aristocrats,  ever 

Have  scorn'd  from  that  sway  to  refrain. 
To  the  brink  of  disaster  and  ruin, 

They  have  borne  us  on  swift-sailing  wings  ; — 
Alas,  how  this  brave  Yankee  nation 

Has  sadly  been  going  to  the  Springs  ! 

Alas,  for  the  victims  of  fashion ! 

The  victims  of  folly  and  pride ! 
The  dupes  of  aristocrat  folly, 

That  throng  us  on  every  side ! 
God  shield  both  the  people  and  nation, 

That  thus  must  be  ruled  by  their  sway  ! 
23 


266  GOING  TO    THE  SPRINGS. 

Grant  them  vict'ry  in  striving  for  freedom, 
Make  them  conquerors  now  and  for  aye  ! 

Eedeem  them  from  ev'ry  disaster, 
And  ev'ry  dark  sorrow  she  brings  ! 

A  nd  restrain  them  henceforward  from  yielding 
To  recklessly  going  to  the  Springs  1 


EARTH'S  GREAT  ONES. 

"The  drying  of  a  single  tear 
Hath  more  honor,  fame,  than  shedding  of  seas  of  gore." 


WHO  are  earth's  great  ones  ? — are  they  those  whose 
sabre, 

Hath  spilled  the  life-blood  of  their  fellow-man  ? 
Who  to  the  sound  of  fife  and  drum,  or  tabor, 

March  bold  and  fearless  to  the  battle's  van  ? 
Say,  were  they  great,  the  firm,  undaunted  hero, 

The  fearless  conq'ror  of  each  realm  and  State — 
Ambitious  Bonaparte,  the  tyrant,  Nero  ? 

These  were  the  champions  whom  the  world  calls 
great ! 

Time-honor'd  Washington,  renown'd  Pulaski, 

France's  noble  son — immortal  Lafayette  ; 
Those  who  now  foremost  stand  'mid  Truth's  great 

war-cry — 

These,  these  are  names  we  may  not  soon  forget. 
267 


268        EARTH'S  GREAT  OXES. 

But,  turn  aside — turn  from  the  scroll  of  glory — 
Go  trace  each  by-path  in  the  realm  of  Fate  ; 

There  pause  awhile,  and  read  each  simple  story— 
The  hidden  annals  of  th'  unknown  great. 

Go  linger  thou  beside  the  dying  pillow, 

And  mark  that  gentle  one  who  kneels  in  prayer! 
Or  by  yon  urn  beneath  the  drooping  willow, 

List  to  her  words  of  comfort  spoken  there ! 
Go  scan  each  haunt  of  vice,  each  gloomy  prison; 

Talk  to  the  crime-stained  wand'rer  of  his  fate; 
And,  when  from  error's  chains  he  hath  arisen, 

He'll  bless  the  kindness  of  the  unknown  great. 

Go  to  some  home,  howe'er  obscure  and  lowly, 

To  where  the  sister,  daughter,  mother,  wife, 
Doth  oft  exert  an  influence  most  holy, 

To  snatch  the  wayward  from  the  snares  of  life. 
Such    are   earth's   great   ones ;    those    unknown    in 
story, 

Whose  names  ne'er  stand  upon  the  list  of  fame  ; 
But,  who  amid  the  brighter  realms  of  glory, 

Eternal,  blest  inheritance  shall  claim. 


THE  SIGHING  OF  THE  PINES. 


THE  snow-flakes  lie  in  stainless  drifts  upon  Virginia 

soil — 
A  soil  impov'rish'd  by  the  tread  of  ill-paid  sons  of 

toil; 
Of  swarthy  sons  whose  Saxon   sires   their  masters 

strove  to  be, 
Till  War's  loud  clarion,  echoing  far  proclaim'd  that 

they  were  free. 
I'm  thinking  of  that  triumph  now,  and  as  the  day 

declines, 
I  list  with  hushed  spirit  to  the  sighing  of  the  pines. 

What  ails  you— bright  green  visitants  'mid  Winter's 

icy  reign — 
Ye  em'rald  pledges  'mid  his  snows  that  spring  shall 

come  again  ? 

23*  269 


270  THE   SIGHING   OF   THE   PINES. 

Yours  seems  a  cheerful  mission — a  mission  grand 

and  high — 
Fair  emblems  of  unchanging  bliss,  then  wherefore 

do  ye  sigh  ? 
Why  over  valley,  hill  and  dale,   as  the  bright  day 

declines, 
Falls  on   my  ear   your   smothered   wail,    ye   softly 

sighing  pines? 

I  know  that  darkest  crimes  have  been  enacted  'neath 

your  shade, 
And   warriors   in   their   gory  graves   beneath  your 

branches  laid ; 
But   rather   be   your   strains   henceforth  to  joyous 

numbers  strung — 
Joyous  because  of  all  the  good  forth  from  the  evil 

sprung ; 
Then  as  each  sadly  sighing  sound  its  mournful  air 

resigns, 
I'll  with  more  pleasure  list  to  you,  ye  softly  sighing 

pines. 

Ye  heed  me  not !     Your  sighings  still  fall  sadly  on 

my  ear — 
Sadly  as  o'er  a  lov'd  one's  grave  doth  fall  affection's 

tear ; 


THE   SIGHING   OF   THE   PINES.  271 

Yet   gentle   is   your   gravest   note;    and   when   the 

weary  soul 
Seeks  refuge  from  the  ills  of  flesh  at  its  appointed 

goal  ; 
And  weeping   friends   to    mother   earth   its   clayey 

house  consigns, 
'Twere  sweet   to   rest   beneath  the  shade  of  softly 

sighing  pines. 

Farmville,  Va.,New  Year,  1868. 


IT   IS   FINISHED. 

"  When  Jesus,  therefore,  had  received  the  vinegar,  he  said,  '  It 
is  finished  P  and  he  bowed  his  head,  and  gave  up  the  ghost." — 
John  xix.  30. 


"  IT  is  finished  I     It  is  finished!" 

"Was  the  agonizing  cry 
Heard  amid  appalling  darkness 

On  the  Mount  of  Calvary. 
Finished  ?  Yes  I  For  our  salvation 

The  sufficient,  perfect  plan- 
Finished  all  the  tribulation 

Felt  and  known  by  Christ,  the  man. 
But  beyond  that  earthquake — darkness — 

Midnight  gloom  'mid  blaze  of  day — 
In  the  realms  of  light  and  glory, 

Christ  the  Sov'reign  lives  for  aye. 
And,  unfetter'd  by  the  thraldom, 

The  incarnate  One  endured, 
His  eternal  Power  and  Godhead 

Keign  e'erlasting  has  secured. 
272 


IT   IS    FINISHED.  273 

"  It  is  finished !"  says  the  mourner, 

Bending  o'er  the  lowly  bed, 
Where,  in  weary  hours  departed, 

She  has  sooth'd  the  aching  head. 
Whisper'd  words  of  consolation, 

To  relieve  each  painful  throe, 
Ere  the  damps  of  the  "  dark  valley," 

Settled  on  that  pallid  brow. 
Yes,  'tis  finished  !  ev'ry  sorrow, 

Ev'ry  earthly  toil  and  strife; 
Ev'ry  trial  and  temptation 

That  besets  the  path  of  life; 
But,  unto  the  soul  immortal, 

Saved  by  th'  atoning  One, 
In  the  realms  of  light  and  glory, 

Life  eternal  has  begun. 

"  It  is  finished  !"  says  the  student, 

As  he  twines  around  his  brow 
Wreaths  of  th'  unfading  laurel — 

"  Finished  is  the  conflict  now  ! 
Ev'ry  obstacle  I've  conquer'd, 

Ev'ry  battle  I  have  won ; 
And  I  leave  these  halls  of  learning, 

Conscious  that  my  work  is  done." 


274  IT   IS    FINISHED. 

Is  it  thus,  aspiring  student  ? 

Is  thy  toil  forever  o'er  ? 
And,  will  Duty's  voice,  commanding, 

Point  to  labor  nevermore  ? 
No  I  for  many  moral  combats 

In  the  "  bivouac  of  life," 
Yet  await  thee — to  the  warfare  ! 

Gird  thy  armor  for  the  strife  ! 

It  is  finished !  it  is  finished ! 

Language  ever  breathed  in  vain  ! 
For  each  conquest  in  Life's  battle 

Bids  us  other  trophies  gain. 
Nature  everywhere  proclaims  it ! 

In  the  earth,  the  sea,  the  sky  ! 
Action,  progress  are  her  watchwords — 

Watchwords  for  Eternity. 
And  the  poet  speaketh  truly, 

When,  to  mortal  man  he  saith, 
In  an  unmistaken  language, 

Fraught  with  wisdom,  hope,  and  faith- 
"  Onward,  onward,  onward  ever, 

Human  progress  none  can  stay ; 
All  who  make  the  vain  endeavor, 

Shall,  like  chaff,  be  swept  away  I" 


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